


3 Broken Hearts

by featheredschist



Category: Avengers (Comics), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Drama, Family, Family Drama, Graphic Description, M/M, Mental Abuse, Multi, Other, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Tragedy, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredschist/pseuds/featheredschist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a strange twist of fate, Harry ends up the adopted son of two of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Some folks of course, don't like this, wanting the Boy Who Lived to remain the ignorant bastion of light they need him to be. Harry's adoptive fathers want him to have all they never did.</p><p>AU - Dark fic! Dumbles bashing (He is not a nice character in this story, fair warning). Character listing is woefully incomplete, but most of the HP-verse folks will appear, and a goodly chunk of the Avengers will appear (comics verse).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Wow, welcome to a new story. This is a crossover – Avengers, and Harry Potter. VERY AU. And it's going to be darker than most, hence the explicit rating. Within these digital pages will be graphic violence, child abuse, mentions of past child abuse, trauma, PTSD, and I'm not sure what else, but the tags will change as they come to me. PS – I tend to write long flashback scenes, so you have warning for that. There is nothing I own in here except the plot and whatever new characters I might need to move the story along.

They were in England, helping a recovery effort as an assist to Captain Britain. He rarely called for help from any of the 'spandex set' as Tony snarkily called the superhero set. But this time, the request had been made less for heroes, and more for scientific help.

Flashback, 48 hours:  
“Mr Stark, call coming in from SHIELD, and it is not Director Fury,” JARVIS intoned suddenly, simultaneously dropping the volume on Tony's music. Tony had stopped his experiment, setting a pair of pliers down on the worktable. “Oh? Interesting. Put it through, JARVIS,” Tony spun his wheeled task chair from the table to face a piece of blank, white wall. His curiosity was sufficiently piqued to call for all of his attention. Usually Coulson called the Team together. Rarely did Agent Hill or Director Fury bother. If SHIELD called, something BIG was going on.

The wall darkened as a translucent screen flickered into being. Tony made a mental note to check the projectors later. The newly formed screen brightened as JARVIS made the connections to bridge the video call from SHIELD. The image of a sterile lab, and white-coated scientists appeared, the foreground dominated by a head full of messy, salt and pepper curls that Tony knew well. “Bruce?”, he asked softly, knowing that if his partner had lost immediate interest in the call, startling him wouldn't help. It'd likely summon the Hulk. The head jerked a little anyway, making Tony wince. “I...” he started.  
“No, my fault. New readings came in as I waited for JARVIS to connect. You know how easily distracted I get,” came the subdued reply. Bruce was definitely deep in 'science mode', as even though he'd lifted his head to talk to Tony, his eyes were still on whatever information had come in.  
“What do you need, Big Green?”, Tony queried, reverting to 'public mode' as this was an open call. That helped Bruce focus, “Yes. A call came in from Brian Braddock earlier. There was a rather large explosion in a suburb of London last night.” Tony's eyes widened, but he waited. If they'd been needed, they'd have been called already.  
“At first, it was assumed that it was a gas main, or possibly terrorists. Brian thinks it's Something Else,” and the capitals were obvious. Tony snorted, it meant magic, he hated magic. “He's been forced to go outside to ask for help. Thus the call to me this morning.”

Tony remembered that call. They'd only been fiddling with yet another new setting on some tracking gear for the Hulk when JARVIS just abruptly patched that call through. Tony'd threatened dismantling if JARVIS was that high-handed again. A few brief exchanges and something he'd overheard about radiation and Bruce disconnected the call. He'd turned to Tony to tell him that SHIELD was sending a Quinjet to the tower to collect him. He had been requested to assist in getting through a pile of anomalous readings. They shared a brief kiss and fondle before Bruce had left the lab to clean up and change.   
“And what did you find?”, Tony asked, concerned and curious. If it was radiation with a normal answer, even terrorists, Bruce wouldn't have called him, except to say he was going to England.  
“The readings are just that, anomalous. Bunny suits on the ground have been sending us new reports every 4 hours and the rapid change...no, that's not right.”  
Tony was completely intrigued and starting to get a feeling, “What, Bruce?” he interrupted, practically demanding clarification.

“It's complete deterioration, Tony. The levels of Beta radiation were off the scale when they first noticed, then exponentially sharper drop offs since then. It's still there in sufficient quantities to warrant full protocols. Brian wants us to come and see for ourselves,” Bruce finished.  
Tony had half listened to this last part. “Ok, I'll get an aide to pack you a bag,” he started to say, completely misunderstanding.  
“You didn't hear me, did you, Tin Man?”, Bruce practically growled, voice deep and rough, as if Someone was about to appear. Though when Tony looked, his eyes were still soft, and very much brown, if worried by the information he'd been reading, “WE are going,” he emphasized, “Go get 2 bags packed, plus the new haz mat additions for the IM suit.”  
“Oh,” Tony said, dumbstruck, then he cracked a huge smile, “Okay, I can handle that. Are we taking an SI jet, or?”  
“Quinjet. More equipment available,” they shared a frown at that, having to stay public for so long. It was easy and hard at the same time.  
“You've got an hour. I hope that's enough time?”, Bruce said, beginning to wrap the call.  
“Aside from my armor, what else do we need?”, Tony asked, preparing to go back to work, or at least clean up his workshop mess.  
“Bring the Hulk's toy box, would you? And remember my iPod this time!”, Bruce grinned and they disconnected the call. Tony spun back to the table, picking up the pliers, “JARVIS, send a couple robots to get the toy box, and another to find our suitcases. Not the matched sets either,” he commanded his AI.  
“Yes Mr. Stark. Will there be anything else?”, JARVIS replied. Outside the lab and unseen by anyone, at least three robot functionaries propelled themselves on their assigned tasks.  
“Yes, set up the haz mat gear for my armor. And you're off the list for dismantling. Good job,” Tony replied, placing the pliers in the tool box, and snapping the lid shut.  
“Thank you sir,” JARVIS says, knowing that was all the apology he would receive on the incident. Tony left the lab, heading upstairs to their bedroom to pack a few days' worth of clothes, and some spares for Bruce, before calling Pepper and giving her a head's up.

End Flashback

 

The jet had landed them in England, and they'd taken an armored SUV to the site in Surrey. Both looked over new readings that had been handed to them just after landing.  
“Dropped off another 40%, just like the last reading. Steady decrease at least,” Bruce said, scanning the tablet he held.  
“Mhm,” Tony agreed. They were waiting while corpsmen assembled another decontamination tent. Except this one was larger, roughly 20 by 30 feet. It was strictly for Iron Man, the Hulk, and their gear alone. With the protocols in place for handling radiation exposure, they moved from the SUV to the end of the tent that was their de-facto lab and started working.

A few hours later, and another radiation reading.  
“All right, let's suit up,” Tony said. He turned from the bank of computers and reached for a thick, metal briefcase. Bruce steps up beside him and opens his own case.  
“Hulk Shorts?”, he asked his partner, lifting a pair of silky, black board shorts from the opened case.  
“Nothing else worked, we tried! Big Green needed something easy,” Tony responded, pulling an identical, but larger piece of fabric from his own case. Both pieces faintly sparkled from some bit of metallic thread that made of part of the weave. They moved into a separate curtained area, set aside for changing in and out of 'uniform'.  
“Oh sure, he's just being stubborn,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes and stepping out of his shoes. He unfastened his belt, suddenly gaining Tony's undivided attention. Tony's eyes became half-lidded with desire, and his tongue quickly darted out to moisten his lips. Bruce's hands stilled on his waistband.  
“Later lover, I promise,” Bruce whispered hotly, “Business before pleasure.” Tony reluctantly and slowly nodded, tearing his gaze off his lover's body. He turned away slightly, eyes on the ground, to hopefully control his reactions. Or at least, put a damper on them.  
They finish changing in silence, but made time before stepping back beyond the curtain for tongue dueling that left them a little breathless. With soft, promising smiles, they went to work, stepping out of the changing area. Tony wore a full body suit of the black material, looking remarkably like a starry night sky, while Bruce just had the stretchy shorts. Being a gamma beast had some benefits, though he usually ignored most of the effects.

Tony reached for a familiar red and gold flat pack briefcase, and simply pressed a thumb to a small indented circle near the simple, detachable handle. Locks clicked, motors began to whir, and the briefcase unfolded for Tony to begin stepping into the armor that made him Iron Man.

Meanwhile, Bruce went back to the computer for one final look. Satisfied, he grabbed a pocket dosimeter that he clipped to a bungee cord for himself. “JARVIS knows to monitor the levels of Beta, down to the millirad?”, Bruce queried as he walked back to Tony.  
“Yes, now help me with the balaclava. Damn thing scrunches on my neck!”, Tony huffed, holding out the final piece before the armor sealed itself up. Bruce chuckled, and took the offensive piece from Tony and waited for him to take a knee. The armor made his lover quite a bit taller than Bruce without shoes in preparation to “Hulking out”. Settling the offending fabric in place, Bruce took a risk and staring hard into Tony's eyes, kissed him full on the lips.

A few seconds later, they heard voices and footsteps getting closer to the main entrance. With a grumble not entirely his own, Bruce reluctantly backed away from Tony and went to a here-to-fore ignored black crate settled off to the side, like a squat, legless crab. Tony smirked, pulling the balaclava's face covering over his now over-sensitive lips and has the suit's face shield slide down and lock into place. The eyes power up as three people enter the tent while Bruce opens the crate to display an organized carrier of oversized gear. He's handling a few bits, having slung the bungee cord across his shoulder and chest to free his hands for the work of prepping the Hulk's equipment.  
“Ah good to see you nearly ready, my friends,” said one of the newcomers, his accent thick, but obviously telling of a cultured background. Tony turns, a little slow and cumbersome at first as the suit whirs to life, to face the newcomers. Two are scientists, white lab coats, black slacks, loafers and glasses on otherwise nondescript personalities. The other, stands out like Stars and Stripes back home. Covered neck to feet in an armored body suit much like Captain America's, where they diverged was the flag design. This gent's screamed “Rule Britannia” to anyone with sight.

“So you are Captain Britain?”, Tony queried, voice clipped and tight. Bruce heard the tone of voice and turned to see that Tony was faced off against the two nerds and a hero. He shrugged. Stark would be fine, otherwise he'd call for back up. He went back to testing the equipment he'd need in the field.  
“Yes, Brian Braddock, at your service. These fellows are Doctors Sam Coulter and George Medi and are in charge of nuclear oncology at Kingston Hospital,” the overly large and heavily muscled male waved at the two lab coated gentlemen trailing after him. “If you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you about this case?”, he asked Tony directly.  
“We might have something to spare, sure,” Tony thought out loud, his voice synthesized by the armor. One of the doctors moved forward, “Mr. Stark, it's critical we figure out what exactly is going on here. This rate of decay could well mean a new element!” Excited scientist was a good expression. It usually made Tony and Bruce very happy, but something about this trip, well, they'd find out.  
“Is that Dr. Banner?”, the other man asked, curiously, turning to see the rest of the tent. Bruce turned from his equipment, hearing his name. He waved, but still made no comment or effort to join the conversation. Most of the time, other people treated him as a curiosity, or avoided him all together. Braddock looked at what Bruce was doing and wanted to ask questions. None of the equipment he was working with seemed to fit the situation, but what did he know of advanced technology such as Stark made? Instead he broached his own ideas. “Gentlemen, there is another possibility at work here,” he began.  
This got Bruce's attention, or seemed to. He came over to the small gathering and handed Braddock a radio and earwig. “Oh? We ought to know about that now. Take these, you'll be able to communicate with Iron Man while we're in the field,” he said as he passed the pieces over. He had to help Braddock fit the earwig properly into one of his ear canals, then tune both to one of the frequencies Iron Man would use that day.  
“Yes, I believe magic could be involved,” Braddock ventured. He knew men of science often scoffed at the idea, but these two were different. Or so he'd been told. Various members of the Avengers worked magic, giving them some knowledge that he hoped would help today.  
The English doctors began to protest, prompting Tony to raise a gauntleted hand to halt their tirade. “We've heard stranger things. Open your minds to new possibilities or get out,” was all he said. The scientists' mouths snapped shut and they shared a look between themselves. Medi nodded first, then, “We will hear what Captain Britain has to say.”  
Tony smiled inside the suit but outwardly said, “We're wasting time. My colleague needs to change before we head out.” The red, articulated gauntlet formed a fist, index finger pointing towards the tent flap.  
Bruce spoke up, before the trio left, “Captain, finish explaining your theory to Iron Man via radio. We'll give it due consideration.”  
Braddock nodded, “And yourself?”  
Bruce smiled a small, half smile, “I'll be otherwise occupied.”

After Braddock left with the doctors, Bruce called upon the Hulk, allowing the transformation to ripple throughout his stocky form. Tony watched avidly. The change overtaking his lover's body never ceased to amaze him. It had taken a long time for Bruce to ever begin to accept that the Hulk wasn't a monster. It helped that Tony had never seen either of them that way. He shook his head, dispelling the memories of their early days.  
With the Hulk now fully present, they could get to work.

“Hey Jolly Green, ready to go?”, Iron Man asked his partner, hopeful note threading his voice. Hulk swung around and laid eyes on the red and gold armor.  
“Gear first, then go,” Hulk replied, suiting actions to words and going to the box to gather up several bits. One piece got hooked over his head, a soft pad settled over his right ear. A black piece of hard plastic with two long, velcro straps goes around his upper arm, fastened snug. A toggle switch on it, small in comparison to Hulk's great size, is thrown, and a small, green light blinks on. Now he can hear Iron Man's voice no matter how far apart they might get, and answer back, though his voice easily carried.  
He reaches back into the container and grabs a video recorder. In his hands, it looks like a normal digital camera. In Banner's, it resembles a movie camera in size. The controls on this are simple push buttons, everything else was handled remotely. This gets clipped to the bungee slung across his shoulders, alongside the dosimeter Banner had snapped on earlier.

Something resembling a cross between a hula hoop and a Frisbee hung off the door of the crate, and Hulk grabbed that object next. As his hands touched this, light flared on all across the shallow convex disk. Hulk heard the Iron Man armor clanking around and left the equipment container to head out on their objective.  
“We go now,” Hulk firmly told Iron Man, tossing the disk to the ground. It didn't hit, instead it began to hover once released and rested about 8” off the paved road they'd set up on. Hulk stepped on it, and as expected, it sank about 2” lower, taking his bulk. The repulsor disk hesitated, then compensated, regaining an inch before following Iron Man out of the tent and into the air, pulled along by a weird combination of magnetics and radiation tied between the suit and the disk.

They followed the trail of Beta radiation to a hot spot determined to be the source. A blasted area centered on a suburban street in Surrey. A bent and twisted sign declared it either Privet Drive, or Wisteria Walk.  
“Map calls this 'Little Whinging'. Makes me wonder what they have to 'whinge' about,” Iron Man quipped when they landed. Hulk grunted a gravelly laugh, hopping off the disk when it got within 5 feet of the ground. He'd chosen a wasted yard to land in, leaving a small impact crater in the dirt and torn grass.  
“Here, set the camera on the tripod, we'll let it go full auto on the disk. Looks like we'll be shifting through wreckage here,” Iron Man told his large, green partner. He extracted a folded up, metal tripod from a storage pod on the right leg of the armor. With a snap of his gauntleted hand, the tripod unfolds and the Hulk approaches with the camera to attach it. Hulk pressed the record button and aims it at what they assume to be ground zero.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: Do not own Avengers, Marvel, Harry Potter or other recognizable entities found herein. I just own the story, and the original characters. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Major character death, PTSD notes, graphic signs of abuse, grief, angst. This carries over into the next chapter as well.

They stood in the front yard of the remains of a small, two story house. It looked as though a bomb had gone off in the interior of the squat little building. The remains of rose bushes are scattered across the front lawn.  
“Hulk shift debris. Tin Man scan for life?”, Hulk said, pointing at the pile of wood and plaster.  
“Yeah sure, Big Guy. JARVIS, fire up the IR meter, would ya? And get me a Beta scan of the surroundings?”, Iron Man agreed, then ordered the AI who piggy backed with the armor everywhere.  
“Infra-red scanners coming online now, sir. Beta scan shows a new spike, but still consistent with earlier readings. I believe the spike may indicate the source of the disturbance. And Captain Britain is calling for an update,” JARVIS rattled off. In the field, everyone was all business.  
“Already? Jeez, not on the ground 10 minutes and Captain Jack's yanking our chain,” Iron Man grumbled.  
“Tin Man, Flag Captain had other theory,” Hulk reminded him, as he shifted a meter wide piece of wall.  
“Oh that. Fine. JARVIS, patch him through,” Iron Man sighed, waiting on the uplink.  
“Iron Man? Can you hear me?”, crackled the accented voice of Braddock.  
“Yes, I copy. Go ahead Captain Britain,” Iron Man responded, in formal tones.  
“That theory, Iron Man. I, and a few others, believe it to be...” Captain Britain was almost immediately interrupted.  
“Hold a moment, Cap. Hulk's found something,” Iron Man cut across the other man, his eyes on the digital readout before him.  
Hulk had been quietly and carefully shifting debris, but stopped suddenly, standing upright, catching Tony's attention.

“Holding, Iron Man,” was Braddock's reply. Switching back to the external speakers, Tony spoke with Hulk.  
“What is it, Hulk?” he asked, approaching the behemoth's position. Hulk had moved into the house proper and stood in what might have been an entryway.  
“Small body,” Hulk answered, sad. His face had closed down, eyebrows tight, jaw line tense.  
'Ah, damn. Not good,' Tony thought to himself. “Braddock, send a recovery team to this location, now. We've got victims,” Tony told the other hero, his tone flat and emotionless. Neither of them liked dealing with recoveries when it involved kids. There'd be a long period of aftercare for this one, especially for the softie that was the Hulk, and Bruce.

“They are on their way, Stark. What happened?”, Braddock demanded.  
“Not now, Cap. I need to help. Tell JARVIS this theory and he'll update me in a little bit. Iron Man out,” and Tony disconnected the radio call. He turned his attention back to the tableau.  
“All right Hulk. A recovery team is on the way. Do you think there's enough room in here for me to help?”, he spoke softly, the external speakers barely broadcasting the sound.  
Hulk considered, his eyes that odd swirling brown/green that told Tony Bruce was near the surface and in communication with Hulk.  
“Yes, come,” Hulk replied. They skirted the small, unmoving body that Hulk had found. Tony tried to avoid looking at it, following directly in the Hulk's steps. But it was hard. While he couldn't determine the exact age, he knew it was a boy, under 10 and obviously well cared for, if the state of his frame was any indication. The body rested against of a couch or divan in what had been a sitting room.

It was a good thing, if unfortunate, in the circumstances that the entire top floor was missing, as both the Iron Man armor, and Hulk would not have fit in the small house under regular terms. They moved down the hall, passed the twisted staircase and into the remains of the kitchen. Hulk groaned piteously, having spotted another body. He sank down on his haunches, eyes closed, attempting to will away these new images. In his head, Bruce was attempting damage control for later. Both Tony and Bruce hoped it was successful.

Tony sighed from within his suit. This was bad.  
“Okay Hulk. If you want, go back outside and wait for the recovery team. I can continue in here,” he told his partner, laying a metal covered hand on the large, green shoulder.  
“Hulk stay. Important to finish. Iron Man not do alone,” Hulk rumbled, turning his upper body back to look at his metallic friend.  
“If you're sure. I know how hard this is for both of you,” Tony said. He was glad Hulk would stay, but worried for the eventual toll. He watched the Hulk's eyes carefully, always fascinated by the swirling mint chocolate when they combined their mental forces together. One eye shifted completely green, leaving the other completely brown as the Hulk stared into Iron Man's visual receptors and firmly nodded.

“Sir?” JARVIS carefully broke into the silence.  
“Go ahead, J-man,” Tony informed him. He'd gone looking for any kind of linens that might have survived the explosion to cover the two still forms. Hulk groaned every time he caught a look at them, shifting through the wreckage.  
“The infrared scan has picked up one life form, about twenty feet from your left, and ten down. It's very weak, sir,” JARVIS told him.  
“Huh, basement area, you think?”, Tony wondered out loud.  
“Probability of 98%, sir,” JARVIS responded, knowing the question was largely rhetorical.

“Big Guy? JARVIS found something with his IR scan. Come give me a hand,” Tony called the huge, green man over from sorting a pile of rubble that might have been the upstairs floor. Hulk shuffled back into the kitchen, curious.  
“Okay J-man, where would the likely entry be?”, Tony asked his AI. JARVIS performed a scan, and compared it to records he'd already downloaded from the municipal code inspector. This download was a scan of a blueprint to the house.  
“It appears to be a basement or cold storage, sir. The entrance is actually outside, in the backyard about 5 feet from what was the back door,” came the answer.

“Halloo the property! Iron Man?”, came a surprising new, unwanted voice from the front of the blasted house.  
“The recovery team!”, Tony exclaimed, “Dammit, can't be two places at once. Hulk, can you handle the basement? I'll work with the team,” Tony hoped he wasn't about to create a larger problem for himself.  
“Hulk do. JARVIS help Hulk find warm thing. Tin Man deal with people,” Hulk told him with rather abrupt finality. Tony sighed, now hoping this was nearly over. He felt that Hulk would need a “rage moment” to truly recalibrate from this. They'd all need a lot of TLC after this.  
“JARVIS, did Stripes ever tell you his theory?”, Tony wondered, as Hulk moved back into the yard, crushing the remains of crockery under foot as he did so.  
“Yes sir. It boils down to one word, and it's your least favorite,” JARVIS explained, hesitating.  
“Oh?”, the Iron Man suit appeared at the front of the house in time to view the extraction of the young boy's body.  
“Yes sir. Magic,” JARVIS intoned, waiting for the expected backlash.  
“Get Braddock on the line while I talk to these fine people, J,” Tony growled. Magic. Unexplained phenomena. Undiscovered science. Horse hockey! Tony was getting angry.  
“Gentlemen,” he purred, “Preliminary ideas here?”  
One of the clean-suited men stood from the evidence gathering. “Sir, this house is registered to a Vernon Dursley. We think that was his son, Dudley, age 7. Primary school records indicate the presence of,” the man got no further, as Tony's internal communications were immediately shuffled and a deep growl overwhelmed the speakers. The extraction team felt the deep bass rumble without any assistance and they all froze, fearful.  
“TONY! Need you, NOW!”, snarled the Hulk.  
“Oh crap. On my way, Big Green, hang on,” Tony replied.  
The recovery team was not expecting Iron Man to leave the room, but that's what he did. The boot repulsors fired, crisping even more of the carpet.  
“Folks, I'm sorry, my partner requires my assistance. Finish your work, and report back to the recovery center,” Tony flung out as quickly as he could, while getting the armor moving towards the Hulk's location.  
“JAR...VIS,” Tony enunciated the syllables, stressing a need for information he clearly did not have.  
“Sir, I took the liberty of talking to Captain Britain. He says there was a magical child here, not the one that died. The Hulk has found that child, barely alive, and sorely abused. I believe its testing his control,” JARVIS explained.  
Tony began cursing, loud and long, and borrowing from several languages he'd started learning with Bruce and Natasha Romanov. “Find us somewhere safe to go JARVIS. Tell Braddock to get our gear packed down. Fuck! Call SHIELD, tell Coulson what's going on, and that we're going to ground. Dammit! Don't need this, don't need this!” Tony got to the entrance Hulk had made to reach the basement. It was the original, only wider, with the introduction of a large, green presence.  
“Hulk? I'm coming down,” Tony maneuvered into the short, cramped tunnel, wishing he dared get out of the suit.  
“Stay Tin Man. We come out,” Hulk growled. Tony froze for a second, then immediately backed up. As angry as he sounded, Hulk was still decently calm, meaning Bruce was still helping.  
“Sir,” JARVIS was back, “Agent Coulson says there's a medical facility.”  
“No, somewhere with no one else, just the 3 of us, and medical equipment,” Tony shot back. He'd forgotten about the external feed.  
“Avengers, Tin Man,” Hulk snapped.  
“You sure?”, Hulk grunted an affirmative. The team's support would be ideal. “Okay JARVIS, the team can join us. Braddock too, if this kid's magical. Tell Coulson he's the only SHIELD rep allowed. Gah, need to call Pepper later, too.” Tony's thoughts were speeding up, trying to compensate and redirect with this new 'wrinkle'.  
Tony stood in the backyard and waited for the Hulk to come out of the hole in the ground. He didn't have long to wait. Hulk had maneuvered sideways to fit down the narrow tunnel, but the way back was blocked by the small body he was carrying. Some kind of soft whimper came from a bundle of ragged towels and clothes Hulk clasped gently in one hand that he shielded with his mass as he clawed a wider path for himself with the other hand. As the pair got closer, Tony detected repeated “No, stop, don't hurt me” coming from the ragged bundle, and his heart clenched.  
“Oh fuck,” Tony whispered. He looked at the big green version of his lover, and made a decision. “JARVIS, retract the suit.”  
“Inadvisable, sir,” was the immediate reply.  
“Stock our hideaway with iodine pills, JARVIS, but retract. The. SUIT,” Tony growled firmly.  
And Tony's black clad form emerged from the armor seconds later. “Give him here, Big Guy. Go get the disk so we can get into the first aid kit there, and the video camera. Someone's going to pay for this.” Tony's solemn promise had the Hulk passing over the limp bundle, then leaping the wreck for the front yard and whipping back with the repulsor disk in short order. The large green humanoid was able to reorient the camera on Tony and the bundled child, then hand over the large kit kept strapped inside.  
Tony looked over at him briefly, “Do you think you can let Bruce out to help me Big Guy? I can do field medicine, but there is probably stuff here that's beyond me.”  
Hulk jerked his head once in agreement and closed his eyes, willing the change. The reverse change resembled a melting and deflating wax sculpture that faded from green to tanned human skin. Tony immediately grabbed Bruce's hand, grounding him from the change.

No matter what level of co-consciousness they shared, the transformation was disorienting for a few seconds, or longer, based on what was happening. Bruce's green flecked, brown eyes flickered open soon after his facial features settled into the softer, less broad planes of the physicist. He gently squeezed Tony's hand, and they let go to attend to the needs of the child before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I claim the Dursleys as major characters - they featured in all the books/movies, so yeah. Sorry if that freaked out folks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Warning – CLEAR depictions of the results of child abuse. Do not read if you are easily triggered. This story will have a lot of valleys before the peaks. Usual disclaimer applies, do not own, please don't sue.
> 
> ETA 9/9/13 - changed description of injuries, and formatted a bit better. Nothing important to see.

Tony gathered up the loose bits of electronics shed in the Hulk's haste to transform. He dumped everything into a padded bag in the repulsor disk to sort later. Bruce washed his hands as best he could, using a sterilizing solution bottled in the first aid kit, then handed the remainder over to Tony. He then plucked out 2 pairs of nitrile gloves and gave one set to Tony.

Bruce's hands shook a little as he reached to unwrap the top layer of towels, Tony there to catch and discard them as they came away. Bruce had to stop and clench his fingers until the knuckles whitened for a minute, holding back his rising anger. There was a faint strain of green edging around the bloodless knuckles. Tony briefly touched a few fingers, gently, reminding him he was not alone.  
Finding balance, Bruce moved forward, taking hold of the top layer and peeling it back carefully. He slowly exposed the shrunken and shivering form of a small, black haired child. As Bruce uncovered the child's face, bruises, cuts and scrapes were made visible, prompting a low growl from the doctor that was not entirely his own. It was a deep vibratto, making Tony and the child flinch at the sound. Hulk was entirely too close to the surface.  


“Bruce, Hulk,” Tony whispered, soothingly, “Please, I know this hurts. Let's stabilize him, and get out of here. You have my complete support. Tell me what you need.” He hoped for the best. Bruce's background as a survivor made this one very hard to bear witness to.  


“Right,” Bruce breathed. Then breathed again, relaxing into the “now” of triaging this little boy.  
“I need his face cleaned up as I figure out if there's broken bones,” Bruce said, his voice low and gruff, but devoid of inflection and too much influence of the Hulk.  


“All right,” Tony prepped a cloth, wetting it with water and carefully following Bruce's fingers as they gently probed the boy's face, checking for fractures. The boy was becoming aware enough to begin squirming and moaning.  


“Shh, child. You're all right,” Bruce murmured repetitively. He found nothing broken in the boy's face, and moved on. Taking more water, he rinsed off his gloves then unwrapped the rest of the boy's body.

A member of the recovery team came to find them. “Iron Man? We've recovered the bodies. Do you need us any further?”, the man asked. He took in the scene before him, but couldn't see what the half naked man was doing, crouched on the ground.  


The child cried out when Bruce found a broken arm, startling the newcomer.  


“Ah, I think there's a family member unaccounted for. The uncle? Check the records to be sure. Then you're done,” Tony crisply informed the man, wanting him gone, wanting to shelter Bruce and this boy from the pain and humiliation they'd dealt with, were still dealing with. The inspector nodded, not liking the idea of leaving the survivor, but orders had been orders. The heroes were in command. He would report the survivor though, and hope that triggered follow-ups on a matter that had clearly slipped through some cracks, somewhere. The pair of heroes refocused on their work, ignoring the inspector.

Bruce worked to temporarily stabilize the broken arm, ignoring most of his surroundings. Tony handed him supplies as they were requested. He moved on to inspect the boy's torso and legs.  


“He's thin. I'd have to say, probably malnourished. The bruising is extensive. Fracture to the ulna of the left forearm, sprains to the pinky and ring fingers of the same hand.” Bruce voiced a litany of problems, emotionlessly. He did this solely for the video camera that pointed at them. A record was nearly as important as the victim at this point, if they wanted to bring the abuse to an end, if the Uncle was ever found.  


“His ribs might be cracked in a few places,” he said once, after brushing over spots that made the boy flinch hard and cry out.

  
Tony cut away the oversized shirt after this, exposing the boy's chest so they could inspect it better and wrap it. Each rib stood out clearly, and both men could see the ones that were misaligned. Bruce took care to snugly wrap the boy's entire chest, encasing it in strong bandaging. The child whined a bit, trying to breathe deeply, but Bruce hushed him quietly. Overall the boy looked like a Holocaust victim.  


“Bruce, are those burn marks on his right arm?”, Tony asked, indicating some reddened, creased skin.  


“They appear consistent with burns. Not sure what type though. Check with JARVIS, see where we're at?”, Bruce needed Tony away for this next part.

  
The boy was starting to interact, and he needed to ask some hard questions. Tony looked at his partner and lover. He saw the anger, the hurt, and loss deep in Bruce's eyes, but also saw the need he had to protect Tony from the horror of that particular moment. He reached out and touched the back of a gloved hand to Bruce's face.  


“Okay. I'll do that. Call me if you need me,” and he got up and moved back to his armor, stripping the nitrile gloves off as he went.

“Okay young man. I know you can understand me. I am very sorry for all of this, but know that it's all over now,” Bruce told the boy. The child shivered, mostly from fear. He tried curling in on himself, attempting to make himself less of a target in case things changed. He was trying not to hope.  


“No, please, m'uncle,” the boy whimpered.  


“Is not here, and cannot hurt you anymore,” Bruce insisted. “Can you stand up for me? Put your right hand on my shoulder to hold yourself up. I'll brace you.” The boy hesitated, then turned his face to peer side long up at Bruce. The shy, dim green orb was filled with pain so instantly recognizable that Bruce was hard pressed not to crush the boy in a hug and make promises he wasn't sure he could or should make. He felt the Hulk growling in the back of his mind. 'I know Big Guy. We'll fix it, I swear it.'  


  
The child determined some level of earnest honesty in Bruce's hazel eyes, because the skinny, bruised arm came up and the thin fingers clamped onto his shoulder as though searching for a life line. Trembling like a willow in a high wind, the young boy gathered his battered strength and stood in front of Bruce.  


“Good!”, Bruce quietly crowed. The child's legs appeared okay, but now, the hardest part. “I have to ask you a really tough question, but I need an answer, okay?” Bruce maintained eye contact.  


“Okay”, the boy's voice was scratchy. He'd been crying a lot recently. Bruce nodded, holding the boy loosely by the waist and checking for the tiny movements that would give away the answer he was afraid of.  


“Did anyone ever touch you? More than hitting, I mean? Here?” And he flexed his hands oh so carefully, wishing he didn't have to. The boy's eyes widened, in faint understanding. But there was no flinch, no drawing away. And Bruce smiled. They'd have to confirm it officially, but this was enough for him.

The boy gave a tremulous smile in return, thinking this was what the man wanted. There had been so much yelling, and odd growling sounds that had made him afraid for awhile after his uncle had left him alone. The explosion had confused him, disoriented him, but he was glad his uncle had stopped hurting him.  


"I'm Harry. Do you know where Aunt Petunia is?”, he chanced to ask. His voice broke on the last word though, and he began coughing.  


“Here now, let's get something to drink, all right?”, Bruce gathered the small boy into his arms, and moved to the floating, blue white disk that held all their supplies. He found a bottle of drinking water and after cracking it open, handed it to the boy. Harry's eyes were round with barely suppressed curiosity about the weird floating thing.  


“Well Harry, my name's Bruce, and that over there is Tony. We're not sure about your aunt right now, but we'll find her or figure out what happened to her, okay?”, Bruce introduced them to the boy. Tony looked over upon hearing his name and gave a little wave before giving his attention back to the report he was getting from his AI via radio.  


Harry nodded while drinking from the water bottle. The water was warm, but he didn't care. It soothed his sore throat. He didn't know these strangers, but they had helped him. Maybe things would be better now. His teacher had tried to believe him this year, but Vernon had told some story about how he was getting into fights. How could he when he was never seen with any of the kids? Dudley and his friends chased them all away, and then chased him into hiding, or beat him. He hoped things would be better. He was tired of being alone, being beaten for imagined slights.

 

But now he wondered, why where these men here, in Aunt Petunia's backyard, wearing such weird clothes? The man that held him so gently, so safely, was only wearing pants! Not even socks and shoes like Harry had to wear to school! He stole a glance at the other man. His outfit appeared to be a dancer's unitard, or at least, what he thought he'd seen once, on a few of the girls at school. He didn't know men and boys wore them as well. And what was that shiny red and gold case the other man, Tony, was fussing with? He squirmed a little against Bruce's shoulder, but Bruce only adjusted his grip to hold him better. Harry wasn't going anywhere right then. He thought about it, then decided he liked that idea.  
While he covertly looked at each of them, he finished off the water and clutched the empty bottle. The first thing he'd ever been allowed to keep longer than two minutes without hearing Dudley screaming for it. He rested his head against Bruce's broad, warm shoulder and closed his eyes. He felt safe, for the first time, in a very long time. He never glanced around the yard, not caring about anything past this simple moment in time, where he was so warm, and felt safe for the first time he could ever recall.  


Bruce waited until the small body tangled in his arms relaxed into sleep. “Tony? He's asleep. Now's a good time to get gone,” he whispered, urgently.  


“Sure. J found us a place. Up the coast into Scotland, some island. We need to head back to the jet,” Tony stood and moved back to the first aid kit to put it back in the disk. He gathered the medical waste they'd created into a disposal bag and tied it off. That too went into the disk.  


“You know the disk handles better under Himself,” Tony reminded Bruce. Who turned to the disk and sighed.  


“Yeah, it does. Suit up, I'll put the boy in the disk and change,” Bruce agreed.  


“I can hold him, the lack of warmth might wake him,” Tony offered, reaching out. 

  
Bruce nodded and shifted the limp body from his hip to Tony's waiting arms. The boy whimpered, but quieted almost immediately once Tony had a firm grip on him. Once the transfer was done, Bruce called upon the change, becoming the Hulk once more. He would have to try not not to crash out later. Multiple transformations were hard on his body, generating a fugue he often had to fight if there was more to do post-battle.  


"Boy okay?”, Hulk wanted confirmation.  


“I think he will be, my friend. I think he will be,” Tony said. The Hulk nodded, and got on the disk. Tony passed back the child, who was easily swallowed by the huge, green hands. Hulk squatted on the disk, settling himself and bringing the boy close to his chest.

Tony turned off the camera and disconnected it from the tripod. He put the camera back on the disk and collapsed the tripod to store it back on the armor. He then reassembled the armor around himself. The trio quickly left the scene of destruction, heading back to the heroes' base.

No one heard a gun shot like pop that cracked across the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You'll note they didn't save anything for forensics. This is partly my fault, and partly story – they didn't think about it in the stressful conditions they were under.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Thanks for sticking with me this far. Here's a bit of the 'other side of the story'. Still doing the sandbox thing! Do not own, please don't sue!

Severus Snape apparated near the gates of Hogwarts, contemplating what he'd just witnessed. He had no idea how to explain to Dumbledore about the green troll who's assisted the oddly dressed human in kidnapping the Boy-Who-Lived. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the coming stress headache. Nothing had gone right in his life since that Halloween night. He was glad the Dark Lord was gone, truth be told. That decision was the worst he'd ever made in his life, followed by the one where he threw himself on Dumbledore's “tender” mercies.

He strode up the velvety, grass covered pathway to the castle doors, lost in thought. The left side of the oaken portal creaked open for Snape. He slipped inside and headed for his dungeon apartments. Dumbledore would know he'd returned and would either send a messenger for him or eventually interrupt whatever work Severus started.

 

It was in the middle of tea that Severus's Floo activated, causing the young Potions Master to sigh.

“Severus? Are you available for conversation?” the headmaster called affably.

“Yes, Headmaster. Here, or in your office?” Severus asked, tired.

“My office, if you don't mind?” and Severus knew it was less a request than an order. He stood, arranging his robes around his lean form, and strode to the fireplace. Taking a pinch of the ash concoction, he intoned “Headmaster's Office” throwing the ash into the fire. It turned a brilliant green, reminding Snape as always, of his Lily's eyes. The interschool Floo spun him out to Dumbledore's knick knack covered office.

“Ah hello, Severus! I had the house elves bring us some lovely lemon biscuits to go with our tea,” Dumbledore welcomed him in, indicating the chairs before his desk for the other man to take his ease.

“So tell me,” Dumbledore began, pouring tea into a pair of cups, “How did your outing go?” He got right to the point.

Internally, Snape snorted. 'Why did the old man bother with the chicanery?' he thought.

“It was, illuminating, Headmaster,” Snape allowed, sipping his tea. He ignored the biscuits, in keeping with his persona, which supposedly disliked sweets.

“Do tell,” Dumbledore prompted. And Snape told him of what he'd seen that day in Surrey. Dumbledore hmmed in appropriate places, but Severus could tell the man was only half listening. Until Severus explained that the intruders had taken the boy.

“What?” Dumbledore sat up straight, tea cup clattering to the desk top.

“That's what I said, Headmaster,” Severus intoned silkily. He'd placed his tea cup back on the desk, half full, allowing him to steeple his fingers together over his mouth in thought.

“No, not possible. The wards,” Dumbledore nearly whined, like a child denied dessert, or a firstie assigned detention.

“I could only detect the residual magic of some great, destructive force, Headmaster. No sign of any wards,” Severus admitted. Dumbledore suddenly left his seat and strode to a nearby bookcase that held more magical trinkets than books. He prodded a few moving ones, frowning the entire time.

“Well, that complicates things. I'll have to cast some scrying spells immediately,” the Headmaster mumbled, very distracted. He recalled Snape's presence quickly enough. “Thank you, Severus. I'm sure you have potions to get back to,” he dismissed the Potions Master without another thought, turning back to the devices on the bookcase.  
Severus left the Headmaster, not having much choice, and wandered down the halls. 

 

Minerva McGonagall caught him staring at the case of school trophies, in particular one for the Charms Club, with Lily Evans' name on it from their 5th year.

“Severus?” she queried, the brogue she normally hid during the school year slipping free. She stood in the doorway of the room, watching him.

“What would you do, if suddenly faced with the fact that what you knew, was wrong?” Severus whispered, eyes misted over. The man nearly lost to memory.

“What on earth?” Minerva wondered aloud.

“The old fool has cross a line somewhere, Minerva. And I fear Lily's child has paid for it,” Severus turned to look at the Deputy Headmistress, who was both his former teacher and current colleague.

“Severus, what happened?”, Minerva demanded.

He swiped at his face tiredly, clearing his eyes, suddenly wishing an end to all the cloak and dagger. “Never mind, Deputy Headmistress. I find myself overwrought from my sojourn this morning, looking for potion ingredients. I believe I need to take some rest. If you'll excuse me?” Severus might be tired of the cloak and dagger, but was not in a position to escape it. Not now. Perhaps the hint he'd just dropped would ripple and create some havoc for Dumbledore. 

Minerva nodded and let Severus go past her out into the hall to disappear down into the lower levels of the castle. She watched the 'unflappable bat' persona overtake him as he left, shoving everything else that was a bother, to the back of his mind as unimportant and unnecessary, and shook her head, thinking about what he'd said to her. And remembers a sad, triumphant night, 7 long years ago. She suddenly realized what Severus was aiming at with his comment and wanted to RUN and find Filius or Pomona. Minerva restrained the urge, and managed to continue her walk at the same, calm pace as before Severus dropped his little 'bomb' of information. As she approached her office, she called for an elf.

“Tafty?” and the old elf in a patched piece of Gryffindor curtain appeared beside her.

“Yes, Miss Minnie?” the old elf wondered, looking up at her. He's the only one allowed to get away with calling her that, in the entire castle.

She smiled fondly at the house elf. “Please convey my greetings to Professor Flitwick and inquire if he'd like to take dinner with me tonight?” she requested. The walk to her office gave her a moment to think, and Filius Flitwick was just the half goblin to help her.

“I do that right away, Miss Minnie,” Tafty said, nodding twice before popping away to deliver her message.

Now, she needed to wait. She was good at that, stalking elusive prey in a habit long ago ingrained. She just hoped the boy could afford more delays.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Mashing two worlds together, so maybe it's cooking class? I own nothing recognizable, all rights go to them what created those bits.

Brian met Tony and Bruce back at the Quinjet, hauling their gear with him. The pair of boxes had their own trolley wheels to make them easier to maneuver. Tony was arguing with the jet's pilots over the need to leave as soon as possible, while Bruce had the child in the small medbay on board the plane.

“Look, I don't care that there's still Agents on the ground here. They can stay, you'll be back for 'em before they know you're gone,” Tony ranted in a rather level tone of voice. He didn't want to wake the boy, or upset Bruce into Hulking out again. He couldn't handle it, for one thing, and it certainly wouldn't help the situation any.

“Mr. Stark, our orders keep us on the ground while there are Agents in the field. Only the Director or Assistant Director can change that,” the pilot stood firm on his orders. Until his phone chirped in his pocket, making Tony smirk. The pilot glared, fishing the device out to answer. “Agent Rohan,” the pilot spoke into the receiver. “Yes sir, they are here at the jet. Sir? No sir, the Agents haven't returned. Estimates are six hours. Yes sir, that destination is easily reached. No sir, we wouldn't need to refuel before returning to New York. Right away sir.” And the pilot hung up his phone. “All right Mr. Stark, load up. Wheels up in 10,” Rohan coldly informed Tony, who just grinned. Tony knew JARVIS had contacted Coulson, who had called the pilot. Brian moved closer, catching Tony's attention.

“Oh good, Stripes, you're here. Let me get that gear loaded. You need a ride? Bruce will have told the pilot where we're going, so ask him if you wanna get there under your own power,” Tony was rambling, a symptom of the stress he was fighting.

“I'll travel with you. We can discuss this entire matter along the way. I will however, need to contact my team. I need to tell them what's happened, and request the help of my partner. She is more connected to this planet's mystical forces and might be able to assist the boy,” Brian offered. Tony considered it, while maneuvering the boxes aboard the Quinjet.

“Bruce?” he called up into the belly of the machine.

“I heard. We'll need someone knowledgeable, AND trustworthy in this magic to help Harry. Let's get strapped in before Agents Rohan and Merrilyn leave us behind,” Bruce decided the matter. Tony waved Brian aboard, just as the engines turned over and fired up.

 

Brian and Tony had taken seats near the med bay, to be able to easily speak with Bruce while he monitored Harry's health. The boy was already hooked up to a portable heart monitor, as well as an IV. There were things Bruce couldn't do, so he prayed the flight remained smooth so the child wasn't jostled too much.

“All right, he's as stable as I can make him here,” he said, settling in a jumpseat near the small bed that seemed to swallow the tiny boy in the middle of it. “Now, let's go over this magic theory of yours, Mr. Braddock. Maybe we can figure out why we had such an incredible spike in radiation,” he continued, shifting his chocolate gaze to Tony and Brian across from him.

Brian leaned forward in his seat, pulling his cowl off and clasped his hands together, composing his thoughts before speaking. “Magic, in this case, is different than say, Dr. Stephen Strange, and Thor's. It is little studied, because those with the gift have resisted all overtures to let our men of science work with them.”

“Wonder why,” Bruce quietly muttered. Tony shot him a supportive glance, wishing he was seated beside his lover to be better able to give him support. He was the least fond of being considered a subject for intense study.

“Aye, no one wants to be a lab rat, not even to understand themselves better,” Brian admitted, “Theirs is a separate world from ours, and at least here in Britain, the community remains behind the times. Reports from some claimed that the world refuses to leave the Victorian era. Others felt they lived in Edwardian times while they were immersed. Most of these folks call themselves 'muggleborn'. My partner has been working with a few over the years, trying to understand them more. Meggan will have more information for us.” He didn't offer much with his explanation. In fact, it left Tony and Bruce with even more questions. Frustrated, they could only share a worried glance before taking up separate tasks for the rest of the flight.

Tony pulled out a tablet and proceeded to have a text conversation with JARVIS and Pepper about what has happened and where they expect to end up for the foreseeable future. Pepper is not happy, but Tony promises he'll remain available for business needs.

Bruce went over the last readings they had taken of the radiation in Surrey, sending email recommendations to the remaining Agents and the Hazmat clean up crew. He then emailed their contact at their hideaway, sending a detailed account of the boy's injuries and what he'd need to further stabilize and mend them. He also reported on who to expect in the next several hours.

Brian used a borrowed phone to call his team, and after, conferred with Meggan specifically to arrange her visit to the island off the coast of Scotland.

“This place we're headed to, what do you know of it?”, he asked after he'd hung up. Bruce looked up from his tablet and saw that Tony was distracted with his own.

“It is Muir Island, part of the Kinross holdings. I've been working on a genomics project with Dr. Moira MacTaggert and Dr. Hank McCoy. The island is owned by Dr. MacTaggert. It's probably the safest place we can get to on such short notice,” Bruce described.

“Dr. MacTaggert? I know her. She's done great work for mutant kind in Great Britain,” Brian interrupted.

Bruce gave a small smile in response, “As well as the US. But we'll be utilizing mainly the privacy afforded by the island while we sort out what to do about young Harry. Tony?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Searching all available databases for any information I can find and putting together a dossier. We can brief the whole team when we get there,” Tony was distracted by his work, but that was normal. Bruce was a little worried about how the billionaire would handle today's events. Neither of them had happy childhoods, but Tony at least, hadn't been abused like he had. But the lack of care showed in other ways.

“Good enough. Dr. MacTaggert should let you bring JARVIS aboard, if you promise not to pry,” there was an amused light to Bruce's warm, brown eyes. He knew Tony couldn't resist poking about another mainframe. What Tony was truly promising was to do nothing with whatever information he found therein.

Tony looked up at Bruce, his features conveying the Puck Bruce adored. “Of course, Banner. JARVIS is the soul of discretion!”

Bruce snorted a laugh, “Better at it than his creator.” Tony mock pouted at the physicist, who just grinned in response. Banter helped soothe the hurts to their souls.

 

They passed the rest of the trip in silence, each to their own work or thoughts. Arrival at Muir Island was quiet, as they'd easily beaten the rest of the Avengers as well as Braddock's teammate by a large margin. Dr. MacTaggert had a gurney ready to transfer the boy to her infirmary, and hustled Bruce with her to assist. An assistant, a young woman of about 20, with close cropped, red hair, and bright green eyes, wearing a crop top, jeans and a lab coat, led Tony and Brian to rooms where they'd stay until another house was made ready for them and their team.

She left them alone to get settled, needing to get back to her own work in the labs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable. Slow crawl out of the dark, but this one is less dark than others will be. Frank, graphic description of medical concerns. Also, not going to attempt an accent, I haven't 'heard' Moira MacTaggert's voice in a number of years, and I know damn well that a true Scottish accent is way different than whatever Cockney Hagrid spoke. I refuse to mangle it up. Also means I won't be fussing with Hagrid's speech, nor the house elves in this one.

Moira led Bruce to the infirmary, pulling the gurney along beside her. “Tell me what you have, Dr. Banner,” she said, all business.

“Young boy, approximately 7 years old. Broken left arm, cracked ribs, sprained wrist and 3 broken fingers on the right. Mostly healed burns over both forearms, unknown origin. No signs of sexual abuse, but we need to check. Severely malnourished and very underweight,” Bruce spelled out, in short, clipped sentences.

“All right. All easily treatable. Scanner's there, I'll get casting supplies,” Moira told him, with a nod in the direction of the scanner, once they reached the infirmary.

Bruce grabbed the portable scanner, dragging it gurney side while quickly figuring out its use. He turned it on and oriented it over the prone form of the unconscious child. Pressing a few buttons, he let the scanner work while waiting for Moira to return with the plaster and bandages.

The scanner ran quietly over the prone body on the gurney, taking multiple images for study and records. Bruce saw the images appear, some looking like x-rays, others looking like CAT or MRI images, on a monitor hanging on a nearby wall. He walked over to the wall, and accessed the images from the beginning of the series. He sighed, seeing the signs from older bone breaks that managed to heal relatively straight. Well, no help for that, he'd just have to work on fixing what he could of the present injuries.

Moira returned from the supply closet, her hands full with a large basket of equipment. “Dr. Banner?” she queried, taking in his dejected posture.

“Bruce, please, Dr. MacTaggert. We'll be working together for awhile, I imagine. This has been going on for awhile. He's so young,” he said, depressed. He didn't need to specify what 'this' was. Hulk was grumbling in the back of mind. If he wasn't exhausted already, he'd have a large, green problem on his and everyone elses' hands.

“Moira, then. Let's get his arm and fingers set and cast, and get a fresh bag of fluids going. Then we'll need to make sure Rahne* isn't using Mr. Stark as a chew toy,” she returned, with a small attempt at humor that does bring a small smile to Bruce's face.

“He'd enjoy that, I think,” he replied, a half smile briefly crossing his lips. He briefly considered their relationship and doesn't sigh out loud.

They both move back to the gurney, and together unwrap the splint holding the boy's left arm stable. Moira got a large bowl of water from a nearby sink, while Bruce made sure the broken ends of the forearm bones hadn't shifted during the flight. He held the arm stable while Moira wrapped soft felt up the length of the boy's arm from just above his elbow to his hand. Then she took a plaster roll of bandages and immersed them in the water before applying the roll over the felt. Bruce immersed new rolls as needed until they'd wrapped the entire arm three times. Moira made sure they boy would be able to move his fingers and thumb, and then trimmed any ragged edges. They propped the set limb on a plastic covered pillow to dry and harden, before they moved on to splinting the fingers together to let them heal*.  
Moira went back to the sink to wash the plaster off her hands. Bruce cleaned up the remaining effluvia and asked where she kept the IV bags. Directed to a dispensary just two doors away, Bruce found what he needed, signed it out, and returned to the treatment room. He hooked the new bag onto the suspension pole before taking down the old one, and made sure the IV line was still in place and that there were no signs of burgeoning infection or allergic reaction.

“We need to start a chart,” Bruce murmured, “And probably scan for radiation exposure.”

“Half a step ahead of you. Here,” Moira handed him a clipboard with a few sheets of paper trapped under the clamp. There's a pen in her other hand. “I will have to check and see if I have the necessary chemicals to run a urinalysis. Something we should do anyway, rule out anything internal.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, taking the pen and finding a chair to start the record. “That's a good idea. Tony's got a video we took at the site. We'll need to get it ready for the authorities,” he explained.

“I'll contact Surrey Constabulary then. When should they come here for interviews?” Moira offered.

“As soon as we can get someone up here. Hell, offer them a ride, if the Avengers want to pick up a Constable,” Bruce allowed. It was best to get it all done quickly. The better to get Harry on the road to healing, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

 

Tony was in the room he'd been shown, on the phone with Pepper, trying to arrange an indefinite leave of absence, as well as getting more of his equipment over to the Island. The Avengers were already en route, so a Stark jet would have to bring anything he requested.

“Pep, listen! Everything will be fine. If we set up a remote link for JARVIS, I won't fall behind anything happening at home,” he tells her again.

“Tony, just how are going to do that from a place that just doesn't seem to exist? Have you given me everything on this situation?” Pepper asked, voice thrumming with tension and confusion.

“Yes, I'm sure I can establish something. Hell, I'll send up a dedicated satellite. I've given you everything on this Pep,” he winced, glad they weren't using the video option on the phones. “Bruce is here too. And if anything really needs my handsome face. I'll be back quicker than a news cycle repeats my top 10. You are more than capable of handling the board while I'm here, but we can use conference calls. Think I'd look good in that white Leia costume, with the bun hair?” he tried to assuage her concerns with his usual flippancy.

“Oh, I'm sure you'd be positively gorgeous, Tony,” she sighed, knowing he wouldn't change his mind once it was set. “All right, send me the list of material and equipment, and I'll see it gets loaded on a Stark jet. Yes, it'll be one of the ones you can remotely fly, and board in transit! Don't interrupt! Does Bruce need anything?”

“I'm sure his latest projects wouldn't go unwanted. Other than that, I'll have him amend my list. Couple hours, Pep. Thanks!”

They completed the call and Tony flopped on the bed, letting out an explosive sigh. He was sure this adventure was going to keep them for several months.

There was a knock on the door, 10 minutes later.

“Tony?” it was Bruce.

“Come on in, Big Guy,” Tony called, sitting up. Bruce pushed through the door, looking tired and stretched thin. Shadows around his eyes bespoke the stress he was under.

“You hanging in there Green Genes?” Tony quietly asked, giving him a once over.

“Somehow. We're not happy at the moment,” Bruce offered a small smile that wasn't anywhere near as warm as usual. His eyes, Tony saw on close inspection, were hazel.

“C'mere, sit down before you fall,” Tony waved his partner into the room. “I've got those shakes you love so much,” he pointed at the cooler sitting innocuously on the desk. Bruce grimaced, but went to the cooler and plucked out 2 bottles.

“Oh, strawberry. Maybe that'll help. You talk to Pepper?” Bruce turned and sat in the chair at the desk. He popped the cap off one bottle and s tarted drinking. The shake quickly disappeared.

“Yeah, she's not happy,” Tony shrugged, unconcerned, “But she's also waiting for a list of junk from us. So, put a wish list together.”

Bruce made a noncommittal noise as he dropped the empty bottle on the desk and cracked the second. That one he drank more slowly.

“Dummy did a good job on these this time. They're almost palatable,” Bruce said, halfway done with the second bottle.

“Be sure and tell him. I'm having the boys brought over,” Tony answered, typing away on his Starkpad.

“Add my project notes, and accompanying equipment. Plus a list of books I'll add when you're done,” Bruce added. Tony nodded.

 

Brian Braddock found himself alone and at loose ends. He was waiting for Meggan, but otherwise had nothing to do with his time. Rahne, the young woman who'd shown him his room, had left to finish her own work, and he knew Tony was talking to his people back in America. He sat at the desk, staring out across the field of clover, thinking of how best to help the Americans help this young boy.

 

Harry would sleep the rest of the day. The Avengers arrived around dinner time, bringing a Constable from Surrey Police. Meggan showed up in time for dessert. The briefing got underway, over coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: * - Rahne, a mutant. Her name is pronounced “rain”, according to the Marvel Wiki.  
> On the matter of an Inspector from Scotland Yard to handle the investigation – after some Googling, I've ascertained that yes, Scotland Yard is the London police, and that there is specifically a Surrey police force (separate entity).   
> * - I skipped a few steps describing how one sets a broken limb. This is in no way a substitute for professional medical advice. Same applies with the fingers.  
> * - and a tiny bit to broach the idea of radiation exposure.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Building sand castles with other people's toys. Do not own, in any way, shape or form. Please don't sue for an overactive imagination!
> 
> WARNINGS: Police procedural in this one. It's an interview. I wrote out several questions, and I'm not sure the whole situation won't be a trigger. Please, PLEASE proceed with caution if this kind of thing bothers you. We'll talk British things at the end.
> 
> OMG, I am so sorry this took so long! This was a hard chapter to write, research notwithstanding. I hope you enjoy this, and that it was worth the wait. Thanks for sticking with me thus far!

The team sat around a well appointed living room, darkly colored in walnut and leather, with chrome accents. Rahne and Moira brought out a tea and coffee service for everyone to settle their dinner, before the meeting got underway.

The constable from Surrey sat a little a part from the reunited team, focused on her tea, and organizing her thoughts for the upcoming interviews she needed to perform. She had answered the Chief Inspector's call the day before, to respond to the unusual situation. CI Browne had informed Constable Erin Stephens that she'd have to do the investigation remotely, as the victim had been removed from the scene and transported to the fabled Muir Island by a group of superheroes. She'd been offered transport to this island, and been taken aback to discover she'd be flying with another cadre of heroes.

They had been welcoming, yet standoffish, knowing she couldn't be truly welcomed in their midst as anything more than an officer of the law with a job to do. They were “along for the ride” to support the rest of their team.

 

After downing the last of a bracing cup of tea, Constable Stephens elected to get started with her investigation. “Gentlemen, ladies, if we could start? I'd like to begin with Dr. Banner, all right?” she called over to the team, gathering her leather portfolio and standing. The team's laser focus centered on her, making her shift, a tad uncomfortable with the weight of six pairs of eyes staring her down.

Bruce put his tea cup down on the low table in front of the couch and stood to go with the constable.

“Dr. MacTaggert, do you have a room I might utilize?” the constable requested of her host.

“Certainly Constable,” Moira stood as well, and led the pair off down a nearby hall to a small, unused office.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Constable Stephens said, passing through the open portal. Bruce followed her in, closing the door behind him.

Upon hearing the click of the latch, Steve turned to Tony. “All right, explain what's going on, please,” he requested. Tony refilled his coffee and settled in to report.

They settled around the desk, Stephens behind it, taking control of the interview. Bruce sat on the edge of his chair, and tried not to fidget.

“Sir, I am going to record this meeting, if that's all right?” Stephens asked, putting a mini-recorder on the black desktop. The portfolio was laid beside the recorder and opened, revealing a mix of typed pages, a pen, and a legal pad. Bruce agreed and the constable pressed down on the record button to start.

“Constable Erin Stephens interviewing,” she looked to Bruce, a slim eyebrow raised in query.

“Dr. Robert Bruce Banner,” he replied, using his full name. He spoke clearly for the recorder, without prompting, something the constable appreciated.

“For the purposes of looking into allegations of child abuse. Dr. Banner is NOT,” Stephens is clear and emphatic, “a suspect in this matter. He is, in fact, a First Responder* to the incident in question. On May 8 of this year, Dr. Banner and a Tony Stark were called to the scene of an explosion in a Surrey neighborhood. Dr. Banner, would you please explain what you were doing there?”

Bruce leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, interlocked fingers under his chin and began to detail what he and Tony had encountered just hours previously.

He avoided the nit-picky details of the science of what they investigated, but detailed everything else in the way only someone with a keen eye for detail can. His cooperative effort with Hulk enabled a sort of memory share that allowed them to keep track of important things. It was like putting a movie reel up for each of them to watch, learning what the other had been up to, while fronting.

 

Stephens was impressed, listening to this American neatly give up information on the scene, blast pattern and radius, the other victims, and most important, where the boy was found and in what relative condition. She detected the burning rage he kept in check. The hazel of his eyes gleamed in the half light of the office, which she considered odd, as the available source wasn't in position in any way tas to give such an effect, making a short note of it on her legal pad.

An hour later, they were wrapping a discussion of his medical findings. He'd made specific mention of his undergraduate degree in medicine ebfore diving into that report.

“There are signs of older abuse, Constable. The initial scan showed calcification indicative of greenstick, segmental and a few closed fractures, mostly in the fingers. I intend to perform an MRI at the next available opportunity, but at this time, I'm not sure it can be done here. Depending upon a consult with a pediatric orthopaedist, I believe the child will recover with no significant handicap.” Bruce explained the guarded prognosis that he and Dr. MacTaggert had come to.

“Good. Thank you Dr. Banner, that will be all. Are you remaining here?” Constable Stephens brought the interview to a close.

“Yes, we'll be here for the foreseeable future, barring those tests I mentioned. Would you like me to inform Mr. Stark it's his turn?” Bruce offered. She agreed and Bruce left the constable writing up some notes based on her observations from the interview. She stopped the recorder after he left, and changed out the tape, wanting a fresh one for each interview so that nothing happened to any of the discussions.

A few minutes later, Tony Stark came into the office.

“Ma'am,” he said in greeting. He was smiling, but the expression was fading from his eyes.

“Mr. Stark, please, have a seat. By being here, you are consenting to an interview that is attempting to establish the facts of this allegation. Do you understand?” Stephens explained as the engineer made his way to the empty chair. 

“Yes, I understand,” Tony replied easily, bending to sit.

“All right, we'll begin. This will be recorded,” she stated, pressing the record button on the mini-recorder. She repeated the opening lines from the previous interview, and allowed Tony to respond.

“Anthony Edward Stark,” he gave his name, then launched into his own details of the Surrey incident.

 

As an engineer, and mechanic, his report was vastly different from the doctor's. He had more supposition as to the cause of the explosion, while avoiding too many technical details that weren't pertinent to the case. Stark mentioned things like the condition of the house, and the exact placement of the other victims. He talked about the conversation with the recovery team and the resultant effort to medically stabilize the boy at the center of it all.

Tony's interview was shorter, due to the fact he didn't have the background to comment on the boy's medical condition. Constable Stephens made careful notes on the interview and thanked him for his time. She asked him to request Dr. MacTaggert to come in next, and turned off the recorder to change the tape again. While waiting, she neatly labeled each cassette and put them back in their cases.

 

Moira MacTaggert could only add to Bruce's interview. Mentioning how the heroes acted when they arrived on the island, how Bruce dealt with the medical aspects.

Constable Stephens established the skill sets of each person so far involved, and confirmed reasonable, professional detachment. She made note that the heroes suspected there might be a survivor, since the uncle was missing. Her precinct* would have to do some hunting to find the man.

After interviewing all three adults, Stephens wanted to check on the victim. She requested both doctors' presence as she went from the office to the medical area, led by Dr. MacTaggert.

 

The young child was awake when they appeared in the door to the exam room. Bruce shouldered his way past the two women, gently bumping them aside with a quiet apology.

“Hello, Harry,” he said, approaching the overly large appearing bed, “How are you feeling?”

Harry blinked wide, green eyes up at Bruce and shrugged.

Or tried to. He squeaked at the pain flooding over him, ribs aflame. Tears sprung up in his eyes, and dripped down his cheeks.

“Oh it's okay, I'm sorry,” Bruce calmed him down, reassuring the boy he'd get pain relief momentarily. He rested his right hand on the railing of the bed, and Harry leaned against that rail, seeking solace. Bruce introduced the constable, “Harry, this is Constable Erin Stephens, and she's here...” he got no further.

“To take me back? M'uncle won't be happy,” Harry said, his small voice full of fear. He leaned harder into Bruce's hand on the bed rail.

“No,” he assured the boy, lightly touching him on the back, “She's not here to take you anywhere. But we do want to ask about your family, if you're okay with that?” Bruce kept still, staying nonthreatening. He had enough experience with children to know that they couldn't afford Harry reacting in fear or anger. He would have to wait until Constable Stephens had started to inject the required pain medication into the IV taped onto the back of Harry's hand.

Moira moved over to the in-room dispensary and prepared a syringe, then check the boy's vitals.

Stephens stayed at the door to the room, and waited for her opportunity to begin the interview.

“Hello young man,” she began, keeping her voice light and level. “As Dr. Banner said, I'm Constable Stephens. Do you know what a constable is?” she asked, establishing his knowledge base. Harry looked all of 5, though both doctors had indicated the malnourishment that had stunted his growth.

Harry nodded, carefully, mindful of the pain he was in.

“I'm sorry, I need you to verbally answer everything. We need to record it so that others will know we talked, okay?” Stephens told Harry.

“Okay,” was Harry's whispered response, his eyes downcast. Bruce rubbed the boy's back, lightly in support. Harry looked up and saw Bruce's small smile of encouragement. He responded with a tiny smile of his own, and looked back at his lap again.

“All right. Now,” Stephens pulled out her mini-recorder, explaining, “I'm going to come in, and close the door so that it's just the four of us and no one else. Can I use that bit of counter there?” She moved into the room, and indicated a slightly lower piece of melamine. Harry checked with Bruce, the one safe adult he knew. Bruce smiled again, a little wider this time, giving Harry the bravery to agree to Stephens' approach.

Stephens smiled a bright smile and closed the door behind her.

“All right. With this being recorded, I have to mention a few things,” she said, thumbing the recorder on before setting it on the counter and hooking her foot on the rolling stool so she could sit. And effectively put herself lower than Harry, a tactic to make him more comfortable.

She waited a beat, then spoke clearly, “Constable Erin Stephens interviewing minor child for case report AA-319. Doctors Robert Bruce Banner and Moira Kinross MacTaggert attending. Please state your name for the record,” she pointed at Harry.

“Harry, ma'am,” he whispered.

“Do you know your last name?” Stephens tried to keep a frown off her face.

“Um,” Harry scrunched up his face in concentration, “S'not Dursley, that's Uncle, and Aunt, and Dudley. I think it's Potter,” he said, after a moment.

“Okay, we'll be sure to check the records. Earlier, I asked if you knew what a constable was. Could you tell us?” Stephens continued.

“Yes ma'am. A constable is someone anyone can go to if they're in trouble,” he recited, vaguely remembering a school assembly in the past term.

“Very good. Now, can you tell me a little about yourself? I would like to know what you do for fun,” Stephens went on with the interview, establishing the rapport she needed to conduct a good interview with a minor.

 

The questions and answers flowed for the next 2 hours, with a brief break after the first hour. Moira handed Bruce the medication, letting him inject the pain meds in the first fifteen minutes, and gave Harry water to sip. Stephens stepped out of the room briefly with Moira to confirm the boy could continue.

 

When they couldn't continue any further, due to Harry's growing fatigue, Stephens put a stop to the questions, thanked everyone and led the way back to the lounge to give the team an update. Bruce stayed behind to make sure the boy was comfortable.

Harry had shifted to lean on Bruce's side as he became more tired and not a little distraught over the questioning. Uncle Vernon had been very demanding about Harry keeping silent, but the strong, unwavering bulwark of Bruce had him telling everything to the nice constable. He'd been afraid, was still fearful, but something about this man beside him made him feel so safe.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Bruce asked, helping him settle back down into bed, and brushing the rough ends of his raven hair off his forehead.

“Tired, Mr. Bruce,” Harry sighed, blinking sleepily.

“Good. I'm going to let you get some sleep, and either Moira or I will be back to check on you in a few hours. There's a little call button wrapped on this railing,” Bruce pointed to the red capped device, “Push that, if you need us before then.” Harry nodded, and yawned.

Bruce smiled softly and held back from bussing the boy's forehead. The upsurge in protective emotion wasn't at all a shock to the physicist. He left Harry to fall asleep and rejoined the others.

Constable Stephens was explaining her next steps, when Bruce reached the entry to the living room.

 

“With the information Mr. Stark has been able to provide me, I can definitely identify the child as Harry Potter, late of #4 Privet Drive, Surrey. He was attending Guildford Grove Primary*. I'll be going there tomorrow to talk to his teachers,” she told the team of superheroes. Bruce moved into the room, and sat beside Tony on one of the linen, sea foam green couches.

“Some of us had planned to go back and assist with clean up in Surrey,” Capt. Rogers said, from his spot in a blood-red leather armchair.

“That's fine. I will also be directing teams to interview some of the neighbors,” she continued, making more notes in her folio. “Dr. Banner needs to run some specific medical tests, so I'm unsure if he can remain here, or will need to travel to one of the hospitals inland. I'll put out a bulletin on the uncle. Other than that, my department will keep you updated.”

Bruce asked, “If family can't be found, what will happen to him?” He spared a second to look at Tony, sitting beside him. Tony looked back, a quizzical look on his face. It was a quick thought, racing through his head like an atom in a super collider. He knew he'd have to discuss this with Tony, with the others.

“Most likely, he'll be made a ward of the court, and put into Social Service's care.” Several team members stiffened at that news. Scowls appeared on the faces of Hawkeye, Black Widow, and Dr. Banner. Stephens ignored them and went on, “If there's a place for him, he'll be fostered, maybe adopted.” Hawkeye snorted, disbelieving that idea.

“Thank you for explaining. Clint, can you fly the constable back to London?” Bruce asked the archer, who visibly got a hold of himself and gave the physicist a faint smile.

“Whenever she's ready,” he confirmed with a nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: First Responders – not really sure there are any in the UK, but I'm working under the assumption that someone with appropriate training can help in these situations. Bruce has a medical degree in this universe.
> 
> Precinct – Not sure the British system uses this term for defining their areas of police coverage. Which leads into how British this story is going to sound. Really? Not much. A British character is going to say British things (where I can find them) as applicable, and will express ideas from a British point of view. However, I'm an American, writing with largely American characters. It will read funny as we go on, I know.
> 
> Guildford Grove Primary – this is a complete guess and by gosh. I have no idea if this is the appropriate school for Harry to have gone to. Don't know if JKR ever mentioned a primary school Harry could have gone to (it's not listed on the HP-Lexicon, which I use for backup info). The neighborhood is completely made up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment with magical side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, either half. Please don't sue because I have an overactive imagination. Today's installment, how the other side is doing. This might be a thing, every 4th chapter being the magical POV.

Minerva welcomed Filius into the drawing room of her private quarters two hours after sending her invitation.

“Good evening, Filius. How was your day?” she asked the diminutive man as he smoothly moved through the Floo.

“Evening Minerva!” Filius said, stopping in front of her and dusting the last powder from his shoulders, “My day was quite relaxing for all we had that workshop earlier! I have finally finished my latest monograph on Charms. Unfortunately I am still forced to publish in Europe and the Americas.” He shook his head, used to the disparagement that he suffered in the United Kingdom Wizarding World.

“Och, that's still a terrible shame. Ignorant wizards,” Minerva growled, shaking her head at this year's old complaint. She showed Filius to an armchair. The chair came to life and lowered itself close to the ground to allow Filius to easily sit. He patted the arm in thanks as it straightened up.

“Tea? Or something stronger?” Minerva asked, sitting primly on the edge of the divan, and indicating with a wave of her hand, the service perched on the nearby ottoman. The carafe of tea steamed enticingly, but the crystal decanter gleamed, and attracted Filius' attention.

“How about a little tipple with our tea?” he compromised, pointing to the decanter. She smiled and poured a measure of amber liquor into a pair of large mugs before taking up the carafe and topping each drink off with Darjeeling. They sipped in quiet contemplation, small talk unnecessary between such old friends. After his first cup, Filius decided that ritual had been observed and asked his opening question.

“So, Minerva”, he balanced his mug on the arm of the chair. “Not that I mind having dinner with a friend and colleague, but, what is the occasion?” he asked of the venerable Scotswoman.

“I have some interesting news,” she began, setting her own mug down with a click.

Filius sat up a little straighter in his seat, curiosity piqued.

“I ran into Severus earlier, and we had the most interesting conversation. I would like to remind you of a time, 7 years ago, around Halloween,” she hinted, a frown forming on her face as she recalled those dark days.

“Really now. That clears up a few things, but others...” Filius trailed off.

“Exactly. Would you terribly mind, I think I'd like to cast some privacy charms,” Minerva reached for the wand tucked up her left sleeve.

“Of course! Whatever you need to be comfortable!” Filius waved off any concern. He had a feeling that things had quickly moved from friendly to grim.

Minerva nodded and drew her wand to cast those very specific spells. She put her wand away, and got down to brass tacks.

“Severus had an interview with the Headmaster today, apparently, something's happened to Harry Potter.” She laid out what she knew, the Potters had been her Lions, but were beloved by all the teachers in their time.

“Wait, Albus secreted the young Potter somewhere in the Muggle world, and now the boy is in trouble?” Filius was shocked.

“Mhm, In fact, Albus put the boy with Lily's estranged sister.”

“No! Lily was heartbroken after their last argument. Apparently the woman disavowed Lily, in front of everyone ta the harridan's wedding., or so she told me,” Filius remembered, tapping a stubby index finger against his mouth. “What was Albus thinking?”

“Family. You know how important it is to him.”

“There has to be another reason,” he said, closing his eyes in thought.

“Could be a dozen, we'd never know. I want to find the boy. Do you think the goblins help us?”

“Perhaps. I will have to go to Gringotts and speak with my Clan Leader. If we can find out any more information prior to my leaving, it would be most helpful.”

The fireplace flared green and immediately dimmed, subjected to the privacy spells Minerva had cast.

“What now?” she turned to the fireplace and dropped the ward on it.

The flames jumped high, emerald and forest by turns. A voice the pair of educators knew well echoed from the inner hearth.

“Minerva? Are you there?”

“Yes Albus, what can I do for you?” Minerva moved off her divan and resettled on the hearth stones.

“I need to speak with you, now, if you have a spare moment. About a small, lightning related project,” Albus said.

The unsubtle reference to Harry's bolt shaped scar had Minerva and Filius rolling their eyes. Albus did love a good mystery, even if he couldn't pull one off to save his life.

“Just a moment, Albus, I need to get my wrap,” she stalled for time. She and Filius needed some kind of plan.

“As soon as you can, Minerva,” and the flames snuffed out.

“Damn him,” Minerva growled, standing, feeling rushed.

“No, this is exactly what we need. Think you can convince Albus to give you any new information?” Filius asked, a gleam in his eyes as he considered this opportunity.

Minerva smiled, “Haven't had to do this since the Second World War. It would be nice to try again.” She asked Filius to remain, calling on Tafty to make sure the Charms Professor would be comfortable while she was gone. He wished her luck and settled in his chair with a fresh mug of tea, and one of Minerva's copies of “Transfiguration Today”.

Minerva entered Albus' office from the Floo, wrapped in a day robe of red and gold, and found him poking his wand into a small, silver bowl filled with water.

“Albus?” she stopped in front of his desk and watched.

“Shh, Minerva, I'm trying to divine where the Potter child might have been spirited off to,” Albus said, slowly turning his wand counter clockwise within the bowl.

Minerva could see a few, small, dark strands of hair swirling within the water. She had an intense distaste for most divinatory arts, but a few were actual spells that anyone could cast. The one Albus was using was part of that category.

After ten minutes, Albus stopped and withdrew his wand with a simple tap against the side of the bowl to cover it. He sighed, settling back in his chair.

“Well, I had hoped that would work,” he said, rubbing his eyes, tension bowing his shoulders.

“It takes powerful magic to block a Finder spell,” Minerva began, half-heartedly trying to reassure him.

“There is nothing of our world that could do it, Minerva. I am afraid Severus was wrong, yet, I cannot bring myself to believe that,” Albus said, slumping down in his seat, defeated for the moment.

“What did Severus see, Albus?” Minerva needed to know.

Albus explained everything the Potions Master had seen, describing the “Knight in red and gold armor” and the “Green skinned Troll” at the Dursley's. These descriptions were accurate, to a point, but wizards had no idea about superheroes.

“Albus, why didn't you let one of the Light families adopt him? Even a Neutral family?” Minerva asked when he was done.

“No. It could only be Blood that raised him. As close a relationship as possible. The wards wouldn't work any other way.” Albus shook his head negatively.

“Blood Magic, Albus?” Minerva pretended horror, when she knew this was excellent news. Since the war with Grindelwald, Albus had studiously avoided any magic that wasn't the whitest possible, except in defense of the school. If he was capable of of using Blood Magic, there wouldn't be an issue, but Blood Magic had been deemed at best a Gray Magic, at worst, the Blackest. Most of the spells Voldemort had used in the Second Wizarding War were corrupted Light or Gray spells*. Albus could not have cast the required spells, leaving the Potter child unprotected except by the expedient that no pureblood would go looking for him in the Muggle world.

“The Lightest of spells, designed to protect and hide the boy from all who would harm him. Even well meaning 'fans'. I am not sure Severus has the ability to detect wards as he has intimated. We need to go to Surrey, Minerva, as soon as possible,” Albus said, a new fire lighting in his eyes. 

Minerva stared at him, and blinked, looking down at her lap with the motion. Her dressing robe covered lap. She'd thrown it on over her clothes to prove her delay in speaking with Filius.

“Albus, could it not wait until tomorrow? I haven't yet had dinner, and I had other plans tonight.” She'd go, but had no way to warn Filius.

“Surely that presents no significant issue?,” he teased lightly, “Come, we won't be gone long,” Albus stood from his chair and beckoned to her.

“Allow me to send a message to Tafty, so he doesn't bring a tray at the usual time,” Minerva said, drawing her wand and firing off a Patronus Messenger Spell. It was not headed to Tafty, but Filius, informing him of the continued delay and new chance for information. She didn't expect a reply, and moved away from the great, hardwood desk of the Headmaster. They approached the fireplace and Albus procured a hefty pinch of powder. He throws the powder into the hearth and called out “Leaky Cauldron!” in a stentorian voice. He stepped into the magically modified fireplace and quickly spun out of sight. Minerva followed after a few seconds, having Transfigured her wrap to a coat.

They emerged at the border crossing tavern, and barely took a moment to return the greetings of Tom the publican, before heading to the Muggle side door. Just in the alley, they paused.

“You remember where the house is?” Albus asked, calmly looking at his deputy.

“Of course,” she scoffed, waving his concern off. She Apparated away. Albus blinked in surprise, and followed.

 

They reappeared in Surrey, just at the edge of the disturbed lawn. The sun was beginning to set, so they would not have much time to look around. Minerva gasped, catching sight of the wasted landscape and obliterated house.

“Good heavens!” she said, hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock.

“Well, Severus was certainly circumspect in his description. I don't think we'll find anything here. Perhaps Mrs. Figg has some insight,” Albus commented, holding a hand out to indicate they should leave.

“I'll be along, Albus. I need just a moment,” Minerva said, trying to buy some time.

“All right,” Albus took her at her word. 'Poor dear must be overcome at the loss of such a fine family', he thought. “I'll see you there, then.” And he Apparated away.

Minerva stood in front of the destroyed house, contemplating what her next move might be. She thought of the work she had done in the Second World War, and chose a few spells to discover the lingering presence of magic. She cast each one, working through the progression, trying to determine ward lines, protective spells, detection avoidance, and anything else that would show how hidden the Potter boy had truly been.

 

The information she recovered as a result of the spells gave her quite a shock, and made her very angry. She knew then that Dumbledore was only paying lip service to the idea of Blood Wards. She committed everything to memory before she joined Albus.

Prior to leaving for the old squib's house, she left a message behind, hoping it would get to whomever rescued Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Magic in this universe. Without turning it into some long screed on the potentials of magic, let me say this much (and otherwise, you can go to my profile, and hit me up off site to continue the discussion): Magic is all about intent. Black, white, gray means NOTHING. It's what you want to do with it, that counts. And you'd better expect a reaction to snap back on you.
> 
> As for the spells, it seems there's an effort in fandom that the actual spells from Harry Potter are capitalized. I will make that effort, and even discuss schools of magic in capitals. I will probably miss a few. When one uses a word as an action, it's easy to forget to do a simple thing like capitalize. So, if I miss a few, don't kill me!
> 
> \- Okay, issues of timing: All these chapters essentially take place over the course of the same day. I know, feels like it has been several. If I'd poured all this into one chapter, we'd have given up long ago! So, not this next chapter, but perhaps 10, will see us skip a few days.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion with the rest of the team on what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Do not own any recognizable products from JKR/Scholastic, and Disney-Marvel. I'm just playing in the collective sand box.  
> No specific warnings on this one, but it's a discussion on what to do with an orphan child. Please proceed accordingly.

After Moira led the constable and Bruce away, Steve sat up straighter and put his coffee cup down on the nearest table.

“Okay, let's talk about this. Tony, what happened?” he directed at the engineer.

Tony sighed, abandoning his own drink. He briefly wished for something much stronger. “A tragedy is what happened, but I'll tell you,” he held up a hand to forestall any protests that he was trying to delay.

The team shifted in their seats, attention firmly on Tony as he regaled them with the events of the last 48 hours. Moira quietly slipped unnoticed into the sitting room. By the time he was done, and everyone was contemplating their next move, Bruce reappeared at the entryway.

“Tony, she wants you next,” he prompted.

“Okay. I just got done telling the rest of them what's happened. It's time for Q&A,” Tony replied, standing. He crossed the room, and took a moment to check on Bruce. “You okay?,” he whispered, eyes conveying his concern.

“Yeah, getting there,” he sighed, meeting Tony's gaze. The currently present level of green in those brown orbs would worry just about anyone who didn't know Bruce. Fortunately, the team was quite familiar, and knew there was little chance of the Hulk putting in an appearance.

“All right, okay. Just, if you need anything, come interrupt, or,”

“I know. Go on. Don't keep the constable waiting,” Bruce touched Tony's shoulder, and got out of his way. Their team knew they were together, but the 3 newcomers didn't. They were forced to hide in plain sight, for a few days longer.

“I mean it, Banner,” Tony whispered, going passed Bruce and down the hall. Bruce sighed once more, closing his eyes briefly before opening them and heading back to his teammates. He retook his place, and quietly thanked Moira, who handed him a fresh mug of tea.

“All right, questions?” Bruce asked, after draining half the steaming, black liquid in one go.

“What can we do now?” Steve asked, face stony and closed off.

“Well, we need to discover if he has any other family. That's primary. Um, not sure what will happen to Harry if he has none,” Bruce looked at Moira for help.

“He would end up a ward of the court, and have to be put with foster parents,” Moira explained, “or an orphanage if no one's available.”

More than half the room flinched at this news, Bruce most of all. The cup and saucer in his left hand rattled as he began to shake, altering him into putting it down. He got out of his seat, and paced the room. None of the Americans* had good childhoods, certainly neither did at least one of the Brits.

“Look, that option isn't the greatest idea fir this room,” Clint said, eyes shuttered, but intensely blue and deeply haunted.

“We'd have to petition the Crown to side step their procedures,” Moira offered.

“Yes,” Bruce growled, startling everyone with its intensity. Thor noted the increasing green present in the doctor's eyes and slowly enlarging muscle mass. “My friend, please calm yourself. We will not let the boy go, I promise you,” he entreated, tensing.

Bruce shook his head, a little wild. Thor stood then, and pulled the other man to his feat only to guide him to a quiet corner and begin whispering in his ear.

“Will he be all right?” the fey woman, introduced as Meggan, asked, concern marring her sculptured features.

“Hope so,” Clint murmured, mentally taking stock of the quiver left at his feet, counting how many tranquilizers he had and praying it would be enough. They all knew Bruce, and especially the Hulk, had a soft spot for children.

“Dr. MacTaggert, we'll need to know everything about this process,” Natasha spoke into the silence.

“Of course. I'll ask Rahne to get started,” Moira answered, with a nod.

“What, specifically, can the team do?” Clint asked.

Steve said, “Well, it'd be nice if we went to Surrey and assisted with the clean up.” The others nodded.

Thor had managed to calm Bruce, and they rejoined the others. Bruce took a new seat on the green couch that had previously held Thor.

“Sorry, I'm better now. I think we'd like to try adopting the boy. Not sure Hulk will be all that calm if we don't,” he spoke, voice holding an echo, reminding everyone that Hulk was still present, as he settled back against the linen couch. His hands came together and fidgeted, twisting together. It was a nervous tell his team knew well. They were beginning to hope that Tony reappeared soon.

Tony did walk back into the room, crossing immediately to Bruce, as if magnetically drawn. “If that's what you want?” He reached out to touch Bruce's cheek. They stared at each other, the 3 of them, letting the world fall away as they shared a secret and a promise.

“Yes,” that growl was there still, underlying his usual tenor.

“Then that's the plan.” And Bruce smiled for the first time in 24 hours.

 

Moira went back to the office to answer the constable's questions, leaving the Avengers with the two British heroes. Meggan looked around the room, taking the measure of each person. Each time she meets a pair of eyes, they feel weighed, and oddly, not left wanting.

“What you did,” she began, “has started to adjust a balance horribly tilted towards darkness.”

“Oh no, mystical mumbo jumbo time,” Tony grumped, frowning from beside Bruce on the couch. Bruce reached over and pinched his side. “Ow, what?” Tony glared at him. Bruce frowned, but didn't answer. “Oh fine, I'm sorry,” he directed at Meggan.

She smiled, and continued, “It does seem incredible. But what you are dealing with is magic, and that is a completely different field of play. Magic does not follow your rules of science, it follows the natural world.”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, and Bruce grabbed his elbow. The glare those virulent green eyes cast in his direction made him settle for frowning at his hands. A hint of laughter appeared in both Meggan's eyes, and Thor's. Thor appreciated this lesson for Tony, who adamantly despised magic in all forms. Especially since Loki and Amora both loved to tease the team at various intervals.

“I am aware of how that sounds, Mr. Stark,” Meggan allowed, standing up to pace. Her long, blonde hair floated behind her like a golden cloud. “Magic permeates the world we live in, affecting everything and everyone. In this case,” she pointed a slim index finger towards the floor, “We have a magic user, untrained in the arts, and sorely abused. He is the lynch pin to a world that teeters on the brink of destruction.”

“Oh great, saving the world again,” Clint snarked from his seat, under Natasha.

“Kind of the thing we do, dear, the 9 to 5 isn't for us,” she reminded him playfully. He grinned up at her, fingers gently tickling her sides. She gave him a soft smile, and turned back to the others. “You know, Coulson would probably be a great help with this,” she told them.

“When is he back from Geneva?” Tony asked.

“Next week, I think,” Clint answered, hands now still on Natasha's hips.

“If you can, get him a message to reroute to Edinburgh. We'll get him from there,” Tony suggested. Clint nodded. “I spoke with Pepper earlier, and a company jet is on its way with equipment and other items so that Bruce and I can stay here, and take care of Harry. We're both still available for missions, though I think,” Tony turned to check with Bruce, who gave an encouraging nod, “that where and when possible, we not be called together. I still have SI responsibilities, and pending any final arrangements, Bruce has as much of his work coming as could be moved.”

“We'll do our best to hold to that,” Steve promised. They had to be satisfied with that much. 

Tony nodded, accepting Steve's word. They would indeed do their best.

Meggan took up her story again. “These magic users are a private people. It has been extremely difficult to speak with them about their lives and talents. I know this much, 10 years ago Great Britain was under attack from a blood supremacist and his band of “Death Eaters”. I will get to that,” she held up a hand to forestall questions. “These so called 'pure bloods' rampaged across the country, killing 'halfbloods', and 'nobloods' According to some, it was a dark and evil time. The supremacist was eventually killed, and there has been an uneasy peace since then. Oddly, the person responsible for ending this reign of terror, is that boy in the infirmary.”

“But he would have been a baby, at best!” Bruce said, incredulous. There was no way a little baby could be responsible for killing a fully grown and trained man. Was there? What was so special about that little boy currently down the hall?

“That is the miracle of the whole event,” Meggan shrugged. “I can get no more details than that. I am hoping now that young Mr. Potter has been found, and will be better cared for, the balance will shift again. But beware that those responsible for his present state will seek to take control of him again. Their original influence wanes, and it is a situation they cannot tolerate. So I ask you to take care with whom you trust,” she finished, just as Moira rejoined them.

“Bruce, Constable Stephens would like to talk to Harry. We should be there,” she said into the quiet. Moira stood just inside the entryway, and had caught the end of Meggan's speech.

Bruce nodded and made to stand, giving Tony a reassuring squeeze on the arm as he moved.

“You'll be okay?” Tony quietly asked, concern briefly marring his handsome face. Bruce could be irritated that he kept asking, but he knew that it was important that someone keep him grounded.

“Yeah, we'll talk soon,” Bruce promised as he passed.

Tony hoped for the best as his lover walked back down the hall away from his immediate support. Moira gave the group a gentle smile of reassurance before she turned to follow.

“What of the Hulk? How will Dr Banner managed his berserker half while caring for a child?” Thor asked, broaching a subject on most of the team's minds.

Tony sighed, shifting in his place. “I'm sure he'll handle it the way he's been handling it. The work we've been doing for and with the Hulk has helped. It will continue. You know how they are about injured kids. Hell, kids in general. I'm not about to ask either to remove themselves from this.” Tony tried not to get angry. He knew that the team would express concern about the Hulk. He hated it, but expected it. Most of the time, Hulk was something of a loose cannon. Only recently, since he and Bruce had been together, had Hulk stabilized and come to actually understand things around him.

“Sorry Tony, we have read the reports detailing your exercises with the Hulk,” Steve tried to make peace.

“Make it sound like he's a trained animal,” Tony groused, lips curled into a sneer.

“Of course not!” Steve responded hotly.

“Gentlemen, sheath your claws,” Natasha interjected, “You'll just make it worse.” Steve closed his mouth, lips thinning, on his next argument.

Tony blew out a breath, grumbling. But he too, remained silent.

“My apologies. If it is necessary, I would stay so the Hulk has a sparring partner. It may make things easier for the doctor,” Thor said, a frown on his patrician features. He felt a little guilty over driving a wedge between his brothers.

 

Moira and Bruce returned two hours later, with the constable. There was a brief discussion with the officer on their next steps. It confirmed what they had discussed with Moira.

Constable Stephens admitted that she'd get help from the rest of her jurisdiction on finding out more about Harry's past.

Tony asked Clint to fly the constable back to Surrey, and the archer agreed, waiting on the constable's pleasure.

When she was ready, the two departed, Natasha going along as co-pilot.

 

“Bruce, let's go have that talk,” Tony started without preamble.

“All right, Tony. Just a moment,” he turned to Moira, “You have space for all of us?” The question asked more than if there was enough beds. He also wanted to know if she had the resources to host them.

“Yes, Bruce. Everything will be fine. Mr. Stark,”

“Tony” that one interrupted. They'd be spending a lot of time together to continue formality.

Moira smiled, accepting his request, “Moira then, please. Tony, offered to be responsible for things like food and other consumables. There's a separate house that my assistants are readying, but it won't be available until tomorrow. Until then, there's space for all of you, even the pair that left. You'll have to share in a few cases.” She left the last statement hanging, knowing they'd figure that out amongst themselves. Brian and Meggan claimed his room, and Steve and Thor another, until Tony announced he'd host Bruce.

“It'll be a science sleepover, no biggie,” his offhand statement prompted curious looks from the British heroes, while Steve, Thor, and Moira* just nodded, knowing looks on their faces.

“Just have to get Jolly Green's bag out of that room. Then Cap and Point Break can have that. If the spy twins return tonight, they can have what's left.” And Tony tugged Bruce on the arm, heading down a different hall back to the bedrooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - for the purposes of this story, at this moment, Natasha is assumed to be American. When she wishes, the Russian accent is gone. It will come into play later.
> 
> * - Moira doesn't specifically know that Tony and Bruce are together. Her reaction here is just "oh okay, two guys willing to share, no biggie".


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background stuff, a bit of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Playing in other people's sandboxes. Do not own, dream I could. Please don't sue. Chapter 3 got a bit of rearranging – I fixed the details of his injuries, as pointed out some time ago by a reviewer. I understand that any time you 'update' a story on AO3, it resets the whole thing to the top of the listings. Well, I have other editing I need to do, but don't want folks to freak out that there might be an update when there isn't. Also, anyone currently subscribed might get notices of updates. I'm sorry about that.
> 
> WARNINGS: inaccurate police procedural, filler chapter (kinda), fluff

Erin Stephens arrived back in Surrey about dusk, and on the way back to her station, picked up the largest coffee available at a nearby petrol station, and dinner just outside the building at a chip stand.

At her desk, she carefully logged in the tapes before dropping them in an envelope to send to the tech department to digitize. She wrote out a preliminary report, including all of her notes, and emailed copies to her superior and the on call psych.

 

“Hey Stephens, what's this?” the tech asked, picking up the envelope he'd been called about.

“New case, child abuse, possibly murder,” she said succinctly.

The tech whistled, “Big one then?”

“Yeah. Think it will have international pull in a short bit. American superheroes are involved.” She wasn't enthused by that prospect, for all the Avengers seemed nice enough from the outside.

“Oooh, bureaucratic nightmare, that. Glad it's not me.”

“Yeah, a right mess. How fast can you get these tapes done?”

“Expect 8 hours.”

“All right, thanks.” She focused on her desktop computer, entering in some basic information on the boy to retrieve any available records. Erin was able to confirm his primary school, and found a brief nurse's report for each of the 2 years* he'd attended. There were no pediatric records prior to this and that worried her. She checked the rest of the family and discovered a wealth of information. Financials, medical, school records on everyone, past employment on the adults, next of kin.

“Aha. That'll do for a start,” she said, highlighting the information and copying it directly to her burgeoning file of “must check out”. She has plenty to do starting the next morning, and needed to call the precinct nearest the next of kin before she headed home.

 

Deep in the archive room, a computer comes to life with a pop up alert, the tone echoing down the dusty stacks.

“Eh? What's that?” An older, white haired gentleman dressed in faded, patched tweed jacket, gray oxford shirt, and khaki pants appeared from the shadowed depths of filing cabinets. He slowly moved to the desk, a hand carved, hardwood cane clicking along with each step. Pulling out the creaky rolling chair, he slowly sat, grumbling about his joints. The cane was released to clack to rest against the metal desk. The mouse sitting on a black mouse pad was moved with the gentle touch of an arthritic finger, triggering the monitor to flash on.

“Hm, this is interesting,” he said, voice a bare, scratchy whisper as he read the information scrolled up on the screen. Taking his cane back in hand, he twisted the knob and extracted a thin piece of wood. He then got up from the desk, and stepped away, leaving the cane behind as he walked back into the stacks, the signs of arthritic, painful joints disappearing as he moved. Hidden in a forgotten corner was an empty area, devoid of dust and files. The old man stepped into that small oval, and muttered a single, Latin word, conjuring a silvery, ghostly fox. He spoke to it briefly before it disappeared into the ventilation, leaving the old man alone once more.

 

 

The next morning, Bruce got up before Tony, dressing in a hurry to check on the boy. There had been no calls during the night, and Moira had sent a single text that she'd checked on the child but once.

“JARVIS,” he whispered, pulling on a plain gray t-shirt and dark blue jeans.

“Yes Doctor,” the AI's reply was just as quiet. Tony moaned in his sleep and pulled the sheet over his head. Bruce smiled at the prone form of his boyfriend.

“Let Tony sleep as long as he can. I'll be with Harry, then get started on breakfast,” Bruce said, running a comb through his hair at the vanity.

“I will do my best, sir.”

“Thank you.” Bruce stuffed his feet into a pair of loafers and left the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click, and walked quickly across the house to the medical wing.

He knocked briefly on the door to Harry's room, and pushed it open enough to stick his face through. There was no acknowledgment of the knock and Bruce saw that his young charge was still asleep, if restless.

Bruce walked into the room, and as he got close to Harry, the child startled out of his sleep with a soft, pained cry.

“Harry!” Bruce called, reaching out a gentle hand to touch the boy's shoulder.

Harry's brilliant emerald green eyes opened, unfocused, as he tried to curl away from half-imagined threats.

“It's all right, Harry. It's just me, Bruce,” he quietly said, repeating himself a few time until Harry's eyes cleared and focused.

“Mr. Bruce!” Harry cried, eyes on the gentle face hovering over him. He'd have thrown himself at the doctor, if his body wasn't screaming in pain. “I had a bad dream!”

Bruce squatted down to gather the child gently in his arms, “It's okay. I imagine that's going to happen for awhile. If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. Now,” he set Harry back on the lumpy hospital mattress. “Tell me how you feel this morning?” He checked the cast and the exposed part of Harry's arm, determining the strength of circulation and whether they would need to redo anything. It looked good, so Bruce hummed a little in satisfaction, putting the arm back into Harry's lap. He then moved aside the oversized gown to check the wrap on the boy's ribs.

“Hurts to breathe a little, Mr. Bruce,” Harry admitted, without prompting, getting a bit of a smile from Bruce.

“Okay, let me find a stethoscope and I'll give your lungs a listen,” Bruce said, flipping the gown back into place and gently patting the near shoulder. He stepped away form the bed, and rummaged in the nearby cabinets and drawers for a few diagnostic tools. Finding a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, Bruce went back to Harry's bedside.

“I know the diaphragm,” Bruce pointed to the correct side of the device, “Will be cold, but it it warms up fast. You ready?”

Harry looked at the device dangling in Bruce's hands. “What will it do?” he asked.

“Ah.” Bruce hadn't thought of that. The likelihood of Harry not having exposure to medical professionals was abysmally high, depressing him for a moment. “This lets me listen to how your lungs sound, which will tell me whether this wrap needs tightening or loosening. I can also listen to your heart. Want to try mine?” He offered the end with the ear pieces to Harry, who shyly accepted them and inserted the pieces into his ears, as mimed by Bruce.

Bruce held the receiver up to his chest and let Harry have a listen. The child was surprised at the deep thub-thub sound. It was so loud! Bruce tried not to laugh at Harry's expression, all wide-eyed surprise, but he couldn't stop his shoulders shaking.

“Wow, Mr. Bruce! This is so cool!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yes it is. Now, I need to listen to your heart and lungs,” Bruce said, reclaiming the stethoscope. Harry let the device go and swayed back and forth in his excitement. Bruce put the scope on, and leaned over Harry. “Breathe normally,” he instructed.

After a few breaths, he dropped the chest piece and helped Harry sit forward. “Okay, this next part is going to be hard, but try to breathe as deeply as you can for me. Can you do that?”

Harry winced, but nodded and Bruce moved quickly, discovering the sounds of slightly altered breathing. He stepped back, removing the scope's ear pieces to wrap around his neck..

“Well, think we're going to unwrap those ribs in a bit,” Bruce said after a moment's thought. Harry smiled at the news. The bandages itched!

Bruce unrolled the blood pressure cuff, and frowned. It was way too big to adequately work on the 7 year old. “Well, that won't work, will it?” Bruce asked rhetorically. “Might go around your chest,” he held the plastic cuff lengthwise against Harry's chest. “Nah, can't do that either.” He grinned.

Harry's smile morphed into a grin in return, and he giggled a little. This man was silly!

There was a short knock on the infirmary door, startling Harry, who shrunk back into the bed, eyes gone wide in fear. Bruce growled, eyes flashing. The door opened, and Moira stuck her head in.

“Morning?” she said, with a bit of questioning, unsure of intruding from the unexpected tension suddenly flooding the room.

“Oh, good morning, Moira,” Bruce said, stance completely shifting once he recognized her.

Harry relaxed a little, seeing a recognizable face.

Moira asked, “May I come in?” 

Bruce looked at Harry, who was a little startled, not realizing it was up to him to give permission. He looked up at the doctor and received a short nod, allowing him to make the decision.

“Yes?” he said, little voice quavering. Bruce touched his arm in silent support and approval.

Moira smiled and entered. “That's a good start. It'll take time to get used to things, but your room is your own.” She moved over to the bed, watching Harry's nervousness

“Never had a bedroom of my own,” Harry said quietly, fearfully.

“Where did you sleep then?” Moira asked carefully.

“Cupboard unner stairs,” Harry wiped his nose on the long sleeve of the gown.

“Well, not here, never again,” she said briskly.

“We were about to try for a blood pressure reading, but,” Bruce held up the oversized cuff and dramatically looked put out, causing Harry to stifle another giggle.

“Oh, I see,” Moira said, nodding sagely at the problem. “Unfortunately, I don't have a smaller one. We'll have to do it the old fashioned way.”

“Maybe not,” Bruce murmured. “There should be a scanner in my things. I'll check after breakfast. Now, let's unwrap these ribs, and then, we'll discuss other tests.”

 

A couple of days pass for the group on Muir Island. They move into the second house, setting up a temporary infirmary for Harry.

“We'll work on setting up your own room in a few days.. Moira had a call from Constable Stephens. The police can't find your uncle. And a Marjorie Dursley?” Bruce explained on the third day, after breakfast. Harry had been taken off IV nutrients the night before after proving he could keep down chicken soup and grilled cheese. Breakfast had been similarly light, but filling.

“My own room?” Harry asked, hope shining bright in his face. He remembered the conversation he'd been part of with Moira days ago, but didn't really believe he'd really get to have his own space.

“Yes!” Bruce said, happy to see some spark of life. “We arranged the team's rooms along the west wing of the house. Your room, and mine, are in the north. Tony's is also there.” He didn't yet know how to explain his relationship with the engineer to this young boy, so refrained from anything. They maintained a fiction of two rooms just for him.

“Harry?” Bruce prompted after a moment of silence.

“Yes?”

“Ms Dursley?”

“Aunt Marge,” Harry became fearful again, “I won't have to go with her now, will I?” He curled up in his chair, eyes watching out the window where he could faintly see Clint practicing archery. He wondered if he could try it some day.

“No Harry. In fact, she even told the police she was unfit to foster you.” Bruce was hiding the truth, but for the protection and safety of the child before him.

“She hated me. Set that dog of hers on me last summer*.” Harry's admission was soft.

“Well, there'll be no more of that. And, I understand she's being investigated as well. The police were concerned over a few issues and want more time with her. Now, I know how boring it is being cooped up inside, so this morning, we'll go out on the grounds, all right?”

“Can I go see Mr. Clint?” Harry's question was so quiet, Bruce would have missed it if not for his enhanced hearing.

“Sure. I know Clint will be delighted to show off,” Bruce nodded, agreeing easily. Harry had been shy about meeting the team, but so far, seemed to like each of them. They had briefly introduced themselves, and stayed out of Bruce's way otherwise. Clint, Natasha, and Steve had all come to spend time with the boy. Thor had returned to America to update Pepper, and to see Jane. Phil had not yet joined them from his mission.

He got up and went to the far side of the room to a closet there. Opening the door, he reached in to pull out a folded up wheelchair. While Harry was capable of walking, he still tired easily, so this was the best option.

“Aw, do we have to?” Harry said, lamenting the appearance of the chair.

Bruce laughed, “Yes, to go out to where Clint is. I might let you walk back!”

Harry's face lit up. That, he'd agree to! He slowly got up, mindful of his healing, tender ribs and immobile arm, socked feet hitting the hardwood with soft thumps. Bruce set up the chair and pushed it over, grabbing a green and purple blanket off the foot of the bed along the way. That object had mysteriously shown up after Clint and Natasha had returned from Surrey. He'd give the blanket a snort, rolled his eyes at the two spies and taken the thing into Harry, who'd love it immediately.

He brought the chair over to Harry, who turned and sat just as carefully down, then accepted the blanket over his lap before Bruce wheeled him out the door.

 

Harry channeled his need to move excitedly into a fidget in his left leg. It bounced, mainly the knee, expressing his increasing agitation at the prospect of going outside.

“You'll wear yourself out doing that,” Bruce said quietly. Harry tried to still himself, but failed. Bruce could only laugh at the irrepressible child*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: * - going on the idea of only having 2 years of school thus far, if kids start at 5. Harry's just turned 7 at the start of this story. Don't think that's clear.
> 
> * - Modified from canon. HP-Lexicon says that at age 9, Harry accidentally stepped on the dog's tail. Dog chased him up a tree where he was stuck til past midnight.
> 
> * - Irrepressible in the sense that if he feels safe, certain bits of his personality will reinstate themselves. However, being startled, or even remotely threatened, and he'll react accordingly.
> 
> BTW, if the adult characters in this story feel a little OOC for awhile? Especially around Harry? Blame that both on me, and on canon. I am not sure how much exposure to children any of the heroes will have, outside of PR moments. And I don't spend any time around kids, much less how to deal in this kind of situation other than to possibly treat the child as a fragile thing, which I suspect is the wrong way to go about it. I am going to work on how each of them is going to respond, and take it from there. Bear with me, okay?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More at the scene of 4 Privet Drive. Aurors have arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still just playing in a pair of sandboxes. Do not own, couldn't ever make a claim to.
> 
> Warnings: none for this one, just more procedural.
> 
> Hi, didja miss me? I missed y'all! Enjoy the chapter!

While Harry and the team moved into the second house on Muir Island, the police had their own duties to see to.

 

The old man in the dusty archives received a phone call from an old friend the morning after he'd gotten the computer alert.

“Good morning, Surrey Police Archives. How may I help you?” the man chirped brightly into the receiver.

“John Grant?” the voice stirred a nearly forgotten memory.

“Matilda Marshall? Good heavens, it has been too long! To what do I owe the honor?” John replied.

“Got your messenger patronus, and need to follow-up. Can we send a team through?” was the brisk, efficient answer.

“Certainly! So you're in the Auror squad now? Do you need the coordinates?”

“Confirm them please, for the record. And yes, got transferred two years ago. Good to talk to you, John, we should meet for tea sometime, catch up.”

John agreed, and confirmed the coordinates, then signed off to wait. He pulled what information was currently available on the case, made copies, and then prepared tea. The investigators arrived just as the kettle boiled.

“John Grant, Archivist?” a tall, bald headed, black man asked from the warded circle.

“Yes, Auror. Welcome to the Surrey Police Archives,” John answered, giving permission for the group of men and woman to cross the ward line and enter the archives proper.

“Thank you, Mr. Grant. Allow me to introduce the team. Amy Porterhouse.” And a sandy haired woman nodded her head as she walked across the room. “Vince Eglatine,” a brunet man with one scarred cheek nodded hello. “Theo Proudfoot,” another man, raven haired and wearing a bone choker nodded politely from beside the speaker. “Alastor Moody,” a grizzled, older man with an oversized, constantly moving blue glass eye, grunted from the other side of the speaker. Everyone was wearing dark colored suits and pale shirts, which impressed Grant. Someone gave a damn about their appearances to the Muggles, and probably deliberately sent wizards that could handle themselves in the greater world.

“And I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. Now, we're here to investigate the report of Harry Potter being found?”

“Yes Auror Shacklebolt. Here are copies of the report thus far,” John passed out the manila files to each Auror. “Constable Stephens is meticulous, there's a lot there. Seems there was an explosion at what appears to be the boy's Muggle Uncle's residence, most likely magical in nature.” The group quietly flipped through the paperwork in their hands as John spoke. “There are several law enforcement groups working on this, as well as plenty of health and welfare people. Young Mr. Potter is currently missing. Rumor has it some weird group of people have him in Scotland, and fabled Muir Island is involved,” John explained the basics, leaving out that the group involved specifically with the Potter boy were superheroes. He wasn't sure how in touch with the Muggle half of the world this group was, and the idea of powerful humans without magic would confuse, if not anger some wizards.

He needn't have worried. 

Moody, reading quickly through the file, growled out, “Superheroes? Tony Stark? Merlin's beard, what a mess.” The unblinking blue eye spun crazily for a moment before angling towards Shacklebolt. “Well, rookie, what next?”

Shacklebolt contemplated his answer while reading his copy. “There's obviously quite a lot we're missing about this situation. Why don't we split up and interview the good Constable, and visit the scene in,” he flipped a few pages, “Little Whinging.”

Porterhouse and Eglatine volunteered for the interview, leaving the other 3 to visit the home site.

“Remember, Disillusion any wand movements, try not to Obliviate anyone, and Moody?” Shacklebolt said as the group dispersed.

Moody grunted, “The eye, I know.”

Shacklebolt smiled at his mentor. “Let's get going. We'll meet here in 4 hours.”

A chorus of agreements and the team split up. The two went upstairs, quietly building the usual cover story of being a part of a division of MI6. The remaining 3 took the time to finish reading the file and discuss all the possibilities. John served tea and remained unobtrusive.

A good hour later, the wizards thanked John, and apparated to the address in Little Whinging.

 

When they appeared on Privet Drive, they found the place swarming with people. Some wore clean suits, resembling walking statues of tinfoil, others in regular clothes, and a handful in brightly colored, skin tight uniforms.

“Huh, superheroes,” Proudfoot grunted, casting not quite nervous looks around the property, as they came to a stop at the taped line across the driveway and front lawn.

“Okay, how does this change our approach?” Moody asked Shacklebolt.

“Hm. They may not believe the cover story. Spells may not affect them. Play it as it falls?” Shacklebolt responded, looking down at Moody.

The Disillusionment that he'd chosen had hidden all the scars on his face, as well as the magical eye. It was hard for a lot of the rookies to reconcile the images, but the vets just ignored the differences. Water cooler gossip thought Moody preferred the unscarred look, but Shacklebolt disagreed, since he'd never seen Moody use the glamour anywhere else but with Muggles.

“We can give it a try,” Moody agreed, nodding his head.

The trio fished badge wallets out of their pockets, and left them open on their suit pockets as a uniformed cop came to the tape line.

“Officer, could you direct us to whomever is in charge? MI6, I'm Shacklebolt, this is Moody and Proudfoot,” the Auror introduced his team.

The officer glanced at the badges, and lifted the tape to allow the three access. “You'll want to find Inspector Hollan. Last I saw, he was with Captain Britain, over by that tree there,” the uniform pointed towards the backyard and the towering maple.

'Thank you.” The Aurors walked toward the tree, where a besuited man stood, holding a recorder in one hand, quietly speaking into it.

“Inspector Hollan?” Shacklebolt queried as they got closer.

“Yes?” the man was middle aged and nondescript, “Oh, MI6? Here to see about terrorists?” the inspector turned off his recorder and faced them.

“Yes sir. Need to follow the investigation to determine the likelihood of insurgency and possibly suspects. This is Proudfoot, and Moody. They'll be your contacts with our office. I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. What do you know so far?”

Proudfoot and Moody moved over to the remains of the house, quietly casting a few detection spells as they went.

Shacklebolt and Hollan went over what the police currently knew, until a superhero in red, white and blue stripes interrupted them.

“Inspector,” Captain Britain said as he rejoined the men.

“Captain Braddock. Let me introduce Agent Shacklebolt from MI6.”

“Agent,” Britain said, looking over at the newcomer.

“Captain,” Shacklebolt could remember a semester in Auror School, where a Muggle-born wizard had offered to tutor several of their year mates in current events in the Muggle world. Captain Britain had been mentioned, though not much was known at the time.

“Agent, Inspector, my friends from America have determined that the radiation threat is gone. All instruments are only picking up background level readings,” Braddock explained.

“Fantastic,” the Inspector breathed, quite relieved at the news. He plucked a radio off his belt and turned away to speak into it.

“Radiation?” Shacklebolt was concerned. The others were picking up magical residue from some kind of spell work. The energy required to attract the attention of Muggle science equipment was incredibly high, and was in the class typically reserved for spells like the Unforgiveables. Those left unmistakeable traces though, and hadn't been detected. Moody was the best at discovering those traces, and he'd found nothing.

“Yes. A pair of scientists have been tracking unusual levels of radiation, but it's safe now. MI6, correct? Looking for terrorists?” Braddock explained some of the work going on around them. He felt this man and his compatriots weren't quite telling the truth, but had no reason as yet to reveal their duplicity. Maybe Meggan had something useful.

“Yes, we're looking for a particular group of supremacists. Racists that want to deport all supposed foreigners,” Shacklebolt admitted. It was the least that the Death Eaters wanted.

“Would they have access to the equipment needed for a dirty bomb?”

“Maybe.” It wasn't out of the realm of impossibility. Purebloods probably wouldn't sink low enough to learn about Muggle style bombs, but Kingsley wasn't completely sure. He was glad he had been taking updated classes about Muggles since joining the Corps.

Braddock touched a finger to his ear, getting a report via communicator. “Agent, if you'd come with me? My partner has something.” He turned back to Shacklebolt and indicated the approaching newcomer.

Meggan fairly floated over the ground as she walked, her golden hair like a fiery cloud behind her. Shacklebolt was mesmerized. The captain smiled, knowing the impact Meggan had on some people.

“Brian! Captain Rogers found something unusual over by the house, wants you to have a look,” she said to Braddock when she came to a stop.

“All right, lead the way. Agent?” Brian asked Shacklebolt to accompany them. The Auror easily agreed.

The trio wended their way through the slowly clearing yard to another costumed hero, also in red, white, and blue, standing beside the hovering image of a woman in black and plaid, wearing a pointed witch's hat. She was older, hair pulled severely back in a no-nonsense bun, a pair of pince nez wire frame glasses perched on her patrician nose. She had a stern look about her, like she'd never brook any nonsense.

Shacklebolt nearly cursed, barely keeping the words behind his teeth. If Hogwarts knew already, everything had changed about this investigation. His superiors weren't going to be happy.

“Captain Braddock, I found this hologram while clearing part of the house away. It's stuck on a repeating loop,” the new man informed them, words clipped in a distinctly American way, once they were close enough.

“Rogers,” Braddock said, tired and exasperated. This whole thing kept getting stranger and stranger.

Steve shifted in place a little, and the image sparkled at is came to life, solidifying to opaqueness.

“To whomever triggers this missive. I am Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, of Hogwarts School. The place you are standing at once was the home of the Wizarding World's savior, Mr. Harry Potter. We are desperate for news, and would give aid to anyone who might be sheltering the lad. If you are a witch or wizard, please respond in the usual fashion. If not, please disrupt this spell, and I shall know,” the image came to a stop for a few seconds before Steve moved again, allowing the image to fade to translucency.

“Well, what do you make of that?” Braddock asked the group at large.

“Seems strange,” Shacklebolt was trying not to freak out, this had bad news written all over it. He didn't know if Captain Britain was read into the Wizarding world, and knew nothing about the other man. “Hogwarts? What kind of name is that?” He needed Moody here. This was out of his depth of experience.

“Spells are tricky things, Agent,” Rogers said, “They can do many things, including leaving such messages. I've encountered quite a few while on the job.”

That information stunned Shacklebolt to the core. Where in the world was magic such a known entity?

“Just what kind of job do you have?” Shacklebolt's curiosity was getting the better of him. Moody would curse his ass.

“Why, saving the world, Agent,” Steve's smile was at once innocent, and full of mischief.

“Do we have a recording and scan of this?” Brian wanted to know.

“Yes we do,” Meggan offered quietly from beside him.

“All right, let's see if we can't get someone's attention. Captain?” Brian nodded, taking the lead, and thus, responsibility for what might happen.

“Of course.” And Steve Rogers pivoted neatly on a heel, and took 3 long strides up to and through the pale image of McGonagall.

Kingsley Shacklebolt held his breath, wondering if everything was about to blow up in their faces.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts, and Gringotts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JKR and Marvel own these fine characters. Plot and any original bits n'pieces are mine.  
> See end of chapter for Author's notes!
> 
> Attention readers! As of 5/11/15, there has been a minor edit to clarify a confusing piece of dialogue between Albus and Severus. It does not change anything else in the chapter, nor the overall story. It's a 'blink and you'll miss it' kind of edit.

Albus was fairly distraught over the continued failure of any of his searches to uncover the Potter boy. Utilizing the Hogwarts House Elves, he sent them all over London and Surrey, checking the Muggle hospitals, and even the police stations. No stone was left unturned in these areas, as he was determined to find the boy.

Every time an elf returned with no news, Albus grew angrier and angrier. The elves were becoming afraid of him, but just could not disobey, being bound to the castle, and answerable to the Headmaster. They had to respond to reasonable orders.

Albus cast another Finder spell, and again, got disappointing results. He growled, vanishing the basin he'd used, the water, and the strands of baby fine, raven black hair. He'd regret that action sometime after he calmed down.

“Headmaster?” Severus looked up from his research into the wards Dumbledore had purportedly installed at the Dursley residence. He was trying to discover what could pull them down without a ward breaker.

“I am out of ideas, Severus. Nothing I've had in place to watch over the boy is working any more. Where could he have gone? What happened there?” Albus muttered. He'd twisted his fingers in his beard, tugging on it as he thought over his options.

“What did the Squib tell you?” Severus asked, putting down the ancient book he'd been reading.

“Arabella had nothing new to give me. We already know about the explosion, and it seems that the magic expended destroyed everything about the house and people in it. However, my devices never indicated that Harry had passed on. Severus, we need to figure out where he might have been taken to, and by whom.” Albus said.

Severus barely held back from rolling his eyes, only blinking them shut for a long moment as he gathered his thoughts. “Is it possible, Headmaster, that the authorities now have the boy? Did you not listen to my report that said that the Muggle Aurors were already on scene when I got there? Headmaster, the boy will either turn up, or not. It is useless to keep on with this fruitless spell casting,” Severus explained, for what felt like to him, the 100th time..

One of the tracking devices perched on a bookshelf gave a bleat, and a puff of smoke that startled the potions professor into silence, and the Headmaster out of his thoughts. Albus lurched forward out of his chair, staring raptly at the little teapot looking device as it gave another fitful bleat, before going quiescent again. Albus' face fell, and he slumped back, falling into the chair again.

Severus decided to leave before Albus' temper got the better of him.

-&-&-&-&

 

 _Filius Flitwick,_ on the other hand, was having a good day. He'd left Hogwarts early that morning, Flooing directly to the Leaky Cauldron, and heading for Gringotts.

Instead of using the main entrance, he walked alongside the huge white marble building, and found the private entrance for members of the Nation that couldn't use the transportation services inside Gringotts. He identified himself to the stone and metal gargoyle guarding the entrance, and then walked past. Once inside the carved halls of Gringott's private areas, Filius headed quickly to his family's cavern.

 

His mother was at home when he knocked on the door.

“Filius!” she exclaimed in their tongue, “You never need knock to come home. Come here, let me look at you!” She was shorter than Filius, her large ears giving the illusion of greater height. The pale red dress she wore was girded about the waist with a tricolor gold belt, woven in the geometric patterns of their clan.

Filius stepped over the threshold, feeling the welcoming warmth of the family wards and hugged his mother. “You knew I would be visiting?” he asked, bussing her cheek.

“I had a feeling,” she answered, eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

“Your feelings, Matra*, have done more for our clan than the last great banker goblin,” Filius said with great affection.

“Of course, Fi. Which is why we are part of the Great Director's clan!” she exclaimed, patting her son on the cheeks. She turned back to her kitchen, expecting him to follow, “Now, it is good you came, saved me from having to send for you.”

Filius followed her, and sat at the low table the family used for informal meals. He watched his mother bustle about, putting together a light snack that amounted to afternoon tea.

“Matra, what have you Seen?” the emphasis was clear, and Filius was concerned for what this meant. Goblins stayed out of Wizarding affairs, and largely out of the human world, aside from discreet financial matters. The Seers of their people were uncannily accurate, and honored above all.

“I have conferred with the Fifteen* my son. We are agreed. You have an appointment, with me, and the Director this evening,” she explained. Each word out of her mouth made Filius tenser. The small china cup in his long fingered grasp shook a little when she made her pronouncement.

“As you command, Belendius of Clan Hybernia,” Filius said, clasping his right hand to his left breast, accepting the formal request.

He spent the afternoon with his mother, catching up on family business until the rest of the family joined them. His 2 younger siblings made quite the ruckus returning from their apprenticeships, causing Belendius to scold as she finished dinner preparations.

After enjoying the evening meal, Filius and Belendius went to ready themselves for their meeting with Director Ragnock*. Retiring to their rooms, they went about pulling out the garments they needed to define their clan and accomplishments.

Each dressed appropriately to their stations, badges and ribbons of distinction overlay their clan robes, belted with precious material, both metal and gems.

Filius bore four champions rankings for dueling, and the badge of his Charms Mastery over his left breast. Goblin awards for Runes Mastery and Gem Craft Mastery hung just below those.

Belendius wore the badge of the Mystics, and another for the Healers. Attached to each were decade clusters, signifying how long she'd worked both 'jobs'. The clan robes were blood red, trimmed in silver. Each added particular bits of jewelry appropriate to their stations. A good 20 minutes passed before they decided they were ready.

Filius left his wand tucked in a waist sheath, paired with a jewel encrusted knife. Belendius wore a similar knife, but as she was not also a witch, did not have a wand.

“Are you ready, my son?” she called, stepping from her bedroom.

“Yes, Matra,” he replied, entering the hall. His father waited, with his siblings, in the living room.

“My son,” he began, “I do not know what this meeting w ill bring, but take my wishes for success with you.”

“Thank you, Patren*. It is my honor to represent the clan,” Filius replied.

Quick exchanges between his parents, and then he and his mother were off to meet with the Director.

-&-&-&-&

_Back at Hogwarts_

Albus was fretting over his many trinkets that played parts in keeping a watch over the boy he thought was the prophesied one.

One such trinket gave off a tiny flash every few seconds. It was the only thing keeping the aged wizard from drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Old Ogden's. The device was meant to give notice to the boy's health, and while the full instructions on the device had long since been lost, Albus was sure that the tiny flashes meant the boy was in good health.

His fireplace flared green, dragging his attention towards the flickering emerald flames. Reluctantly, Albus left his desk and strode towards the gray rock edifice. Bending down, he opened the Floo connection.

“Yes?” he called.

“Headmaster, it's Cornelius. May I come through?” the nasal whine of the Minister for Magic came through the Floo. Dumbledore reached a hand to his beard, absently tugging it as he tried to figure out what Fudge wanted.

“Yes Cornelius, please come through,” he finally agreed after a few short contemplative moments. He stepped back away from the verge of stones and allowed the portly, balding wizard access to his office.

Albus had reseated himself behind his desk by the time the Floo ejected Cornelius Fudge. The bumbling, middle aged wizard brushed ash from his pinstripe robes as he crossed the office.

“What can I do for you today, Minister?” Albus asked, inviting the other man to sit down in one of the squashy armchairs placed before his desk.

“My Aurors tell me that there's been a magical explosion in Surrey. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?” Cornelius didn't waste time on pleasantries.

“I am relatively confident I have no students in that area,” Albus answered. Which was true. The Potter boy wasn't yet a student.

“I see. I have a team out there now, investigating. Perhaps their report will shed some light on the matter.”

“I'm sure they will do their jobs admirably,” Albus prevaricated. He quickly went through a mental list of the current Auror roster to see if there was anyone from the Order.

“Well then, since there's nothing further,” Cornelius sighed. He believed Dumbledore was obstructionist at the best of times. While seeming to advocate for the betterment of Half-bloods and Muggle-born, Albus Dumbledore barely stood in the way of continued marginalization from the Purebloods.

“The next Wizengamot meeting is in 2 weeks, Minister,” Albus unnecessarily reminded Fudge.

“I will see you then, Headmaster,” Fudge gathered his dignity and left Dumbledore to play with his whirly gigs.

Albus was glad to see the last of the Minister disappear in a swirl of flame. He dug a piece of parchment out of a drawer and quickly dipping a quill into an inkpot, he dashed off a note to Alastor Moody.

An owl winged into the room via a charmed window that Albus kept for post and for the phoenix he called familiar.

“Get this to Auror Alastor Moody's desk. You do not need to wait for a reply,” he instructed the bird, handing over the folded parchment. The bird game an acknowledging hoot and took the letter in its beak before turning and flying back out the window.

Albus leaned back in his chair, contemplating his next moves.

 

-&-&-&-&

 

_Back in the depths of Gringotts,_

Filius, and his mother Belendius soon arrived at the audience chamber. The guards at the entrance stood at attention, and challenged them.

Filius answered, “Clan Hybernia Seer Belendius, and Master Filius, of Clan Hybernia as the Director commands.”

A previously hidden page darted into the chamber with the information and was quickly back, signaling the guards that they were expected. Withdrawing, the guards moved to bracket the carved stone entryway, allowing the pair to enter.

Filius offered his arm to his mother, and when she'd taken hold, lead the way into the opulent audience chamber.

 

Humans would have thought it strange, the huge chamber had been carved by magma long ago, then accented by goblin craftsmen over centuries. The floor was inches thick sand, easier to deal with when tempers flared and blood was drawn. Lining the walls were scenes from their racial history. Proud moments of goblin life carved into the ancient sandstone, the bars of color throwing most of it into sharp relief. Accents like eyes, and weapons, were picked out in various metals and gems.

A goblin came before the Director only a few times in their life. Presented as a small child just before schooling started, a young goblin was blessed by the 15; then later, upon choosing a trade to apprentice into; and again if they found a mate. Any other time could either be cause for concern, or cause for celebration. And often, the summoned had no idea which it would be, until the meeting was already begun.

Filius and Belendius stopped in the center of the floor, and separated from each other a few steps. It was not unheard of for assassination attempts to occur in the great cavern. They broke apart so that they were better able to respond to any threats.

They did not have long to wait. Another door, on the far side of the cavern, opened, allowing a pair of guards and a larger being entry. The guards took up positions on either side of a black stone chair, weapons clasped in loose, but ready hands. The large goblin, easily head and shoulders taller than Filius and broader than a boulder, gracefully made his way to the chair, and ensconced himself upon it. Filius and Belendius bowed deeply, hands constantly in view.

“Director, we thank you for this audience,” Belendius spoke first, straightening from the obeisance.

“Seer Belendius, Master Filius,” the Director's voice was like a rock fall. “The 15 have requested that we meet. They will be joining us shortly. Please, take your ease.”

With those words, Filius and Belendius relaxed minutely, and were joined on the cavern floor by porters bearing seats and goblin ale for their refreshment.

The two sat as invited, and spent a pleasant interlude with their cousin.

 

Soon enough, a gong sounded, alerting them to the arrival of the Fifteen. These were the Nation's Seers, dedicated to using their powers to steer the growth of wealth for the goblins as a whole. They were the eldest in that trade, the youngest only just having reached her second century. While the talent of precognition was not limited to the female of their species, being called to the Fifteen was the exclusive privilege of the women.

Fifteen elderly goblins filed into the cavern on the same side as Filius and his mother. Chairs shimmered into existence, conjured by their own talents. Each Elder Goblin sat down, the eldest assisted by an acolyte.

That worthy glanced around the cavern, eyes darting from the summoned pair to the Director and his guards. “Hmph,” she groused. “Feeling high and mighty today, Ragnock?” she asked, her voice gravelly and tetchy.

“Never once you've arrived, Atia. I will come down, if you would provide a seat?” Ragnock teased, a toothy grin appearing on his wide face, the movement of his cheeks wrinkling the skin around his eyes, and bristling the cheek fur that grew along the edge of his face. He hastened to comply with her wishes, the speed with which he moved, belying his bulk. No one made Grand Seer Atia wait.

“Blessed Atia,” Belendius intoned from her seat.

“Ah, be done with formality, Bele,” the old goblin matron said. “Young Filius, this news you've brought us, very surprising.”

“Yes, Revered One. But I hope profitable for the Nation,” Filius replied respectfully.

“Hah! You've raised him right, Bele!” the Seer cackled. “Young goblin, today, you earn the right to my name.”

Filius was bowled over. The honor of just being in the presence of the Fifteen and the Director was astronomical, but permitted to be familiar with the Revered Seer? Otherworldly.

“As you command,” he whispered, stunned near to silence.

Belendius was proud. Her son! The only one of his generation to successfully make his way in the Wizarding World. Though she knew that was largely due to the presence of human blood in their family tree, as well as the previous Headmaster of the human magic school.

Ragnock appeared on the cavern floor, having taken the path from the raised gallery. Atia had signaled one of the other seers to conjure another chair, a low stump of a thing, that resembled a stalagmite.

“Thank you Atia,” he said politely, seating himself. The others all turned inward to participate in this unusual council.

 

“So, Bele, your visions are beginning to come true,” Atia began, beetle like eyes focused sharply on the woman in question.

 

“Yes. I've seen an explosion, that we now know has occurred. As well as the co-mingling of what I thought were auras, but instead appear to be representations of power. A bright blue and silver, surrounded equally by red, gold, and green,” Belendius spoke quietly, though every being there heard her clearly.

Filius compared this information with what he knew. Though he was unsure of one set of colors, he knew that Harry's power shone blue and silver, or had, when Lily had come to him once, shortly after he was born.

“And Filius, what do you know?” Atia swung her piercing gaze to the youngest among them.

Filius swallowed, suddenly nervous. A quick glance at his mother, who nodded once, bolstered his courage. “Ah yes, Revered,” she glared at him, “Sorry, Atia.” He received a smile. Rubbing his hands against his robe, Filius continued. “Not much more than 7 years ago, Lily Evans Potter brought her newborn son to me, requesting assistance. It appeared he'd already begun to show signs of magic. I performed a scan upon the babe, using Goblin magics.”

Several of the younger Seers gasped at this admission. Using Goblin magic on, or for humans was proscribed, except in very special cases.

“Still yourselves, children,” Atia growled, “Continue.” 

Filius nodded, a light sweat having broken out on his scarred forehead. “The scan was the one all Healers know. It estimates power and potential Talent. The brightness from the boy's potential threatened to blind me!” he exclaimed. “And his Talent potential! I reassured Lily that the boy was fine, if precocious. Then I explained that what I saw could only be explained in terms of Goblin tradition. I could try and get an equivalency explained if she but gave me some time.” Filius bowed his head for a moment, swept away by the memories. “I spoke with Matra about it, and it was she who performed the equivalency. I sent the report on, but do not know if she had time to read it, as the war had begun to worsen by then.” He sat back in his seat, and reached for the small tankard to drain it of ale.

“Revered One,” one of the seers broke the new silence, “The act of...”

“Do not presume to tell me the law,” Atia snapped, making the other goblin recoil in fear. The Head Seer held absolute rule over their order, and could easily have any or all of them removed from their posts, even killed. “Bele came immediately to me with Filius' request. I allowed the scan, and subsequent equivalency. Now, what else has happened?” Atia refocused on Filius.

The others stayed silent. The Director seemed quite aware of everything to that point, leaning forward in his seat as he listened intently.

“After the fall of Riddle,” several goblins growled, even the guards still in the raised gallery. “Albus Dumbledore took the child and hid him away. Our Seers,” and here, Filius gave a tremulous smile to the gathering, “Were able to relocate him, but on the advice of Atia, and the Director, the child was left alone. As we know, our early efforts after the boy turned 5, to bring his family up to date on the Potter accounts, met with failure. Dumbledore stymied our efforts at every turn, at least according to Wizarding Law.” Filius stopped, realizing he didn't know much more. The Director rescued him.

 

Ragnock moved, shifting to put elbows upon prominent knees, contemplating the information before him. “Wizards command that the last Heir of a House should come into the knowledge of his family as soon as possible. Usually, if there are surviving family members, they take care of it. In the case of orphans, the requirements are a bit murkier. Even more so, when the only remaining family are disavowed, and on top of that, Muggle.”

“Which is the case here, correct?” Atia asked. Ragnock nodded. “This situation is highly irregular,” she began, heaving herself out of her chair. She began to walk, pacing about the cavern as they worked out the issues. “The wizards would rightly claim interference, if they but knew. We are fortunate to be allowed such leeway.” Atia was facing a mural depicting the last battle of the last Goblin War.

“Revered One,” one of the other Seers tentatively interrupted.

“Yes, Gia?” Atia asked, her focus seemingly on the mural.

“This is not part of our normal services to the humans. Why are we bothering?” the middle aged, heavy set goblin, who was sitting half way through the arc of Seers, watched the stooped, white haired older goblin.

“Gia, have you heard the Prophecies? The humans have one, and I believe the Centaurs put something together,” Atia explained.

Most of the seers nodded, they knew of the prophecies, having been involved when each was brought to the attention of the Nation. Ragnock looked thoughtful, bushy eyebrows heaving and lowered as he contemplated, again, the implications of the choice he made six years ago.

“Our world is at stake. It is a lot to put on the shoulders of someone not even begun their training,” he said, voice heavy with the yoke of leadership. “This child is not even aware of his legacy, much less his future. Atia, have you Seen?”

“Director,” Atia turned and walked back to the group. “I have not, but Bele...”

“Yes Director, Atia. My Seeing has involved strangers from America. One with a suit of armor, the other appears a changeling. I believe they have the boy. Hogwarts is involved, but not the Headmaster,” Belendius explained.

Filius rejoined the conversation at that point, “Minerva overheard Severus Snape bemoaning the child's fate. She came to me, to the Nation, to see if aught could be done. Matra told me of the visions. Thus, we are here.”

“Yes, these are the other pieces of the puzzle. We need to find out about these Americans,” Ragnock straightened, heartened by the news that one of the visions was so easily solved.

 

Before the meeting broke up, a young Page brought a missive to Ragnock. The Director read the note and called out to Filius.

“Professor McGonagall has gone to meet with the Americans. She sent an owl, something about triggering a spell she left on a site in Little Whinging.”

“Good,” Filius replied, escorting his mother from the chamber, having bid farewell to all present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter has seen minor edits. 5/11/15 I am running into personal issues a plenty, and decided today that you all had waited long enough, and so, posted. I hope you enjoy all the extra details! (a lot of the stuff with the goblins had been slated for culling, but you get it all. This is what hung me up for most of the last two months, btw.) Below find the entries to the asterisks.  
> * Matra – mother/maternal one  
> * The Fifteen – a council of elder Goblin women with a talent for precognition  
> * Ragnock – listed on HP Lexicon as an important goblin, so fanon made him Director. I continue that tradition.  
> * Patren – father/paternal one


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts, Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts; Surrey; Inverness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, can't own it. I keep playing lottery though, maybe that will help...
> 
> AN: Extra long chapter this time, have a lot to get through. Hopefully this will tide folks over for a bit while I shift gears to move the story forward (finally!).
> 
> However: This chapter comes to you raw and unedited. To that end, please note that anything that looks very off, or completely weird, feel free to leave me a review or PM about. Also note that politeness goes so very much further than anything else. My levels of chronic pain have meant that while I'm writing, I haven't got the tolerance for sitting long enough right now to edit. And 3 months is plenty long enough to leave people waiting to see what happened, hm? Onward.

Minerva was enjoying a bit of a snooze on the balcony of her rooms. It faced southwest, and got a lovely patch of sun every day, warming the old Scottish stones. She tried to take advantage of this, as often as possible, especially in her Animagus form of a tabby cat. It let the world slip away for just a little while, something she found refreshing in between semesters.

An alarm bleating from her bedroom jolted her from her nap, fur bristling along her spine, and tail fluffing out to twice its normal size. Shaking the last dregs of sleep from her mind, Minerva morphed back to her human form, and quickly found the trigger item and tapped it with an index finger.

“Well, that puts paid to my day. Tafty?” she said, calling on her favorite house elf.

“Yes Miss Minnie?” the elf asked as it popped into her room, not three feet away from her dresser.

“I need to go out of the castle, and I don't know how long I'll be gone. If anyone asks,” she paused, considering, “Yes, if anyone asks, I've gone home to attend to some of the crofters. I'll try to send word if I'll be gone more than a day.” She'd send a separate message directly to Filius.

“Yes, Miss Minnie. Does you need anything elses?” Tafty bowed as he spoke, the old Gryffindor curtain he wore flapping as he moved.

“No, I don't think so, but thank you. That will be all,” she dismissed the elf and quickly changed into clothes that were more appropriate for the Muggle world than her usual robes. She quickly walked into her office and went to the fireplace. On the oak mantle, amongst the few knick-knacks and wizard photographs, was a small tin pot embossed with Scottish thistles. Minerva reached into the pot for a pinch of Floo powder, that odd mix of fireplace ash, steel and iron filings, and threw it into the grate. Once the emerald flames burst up, Minerva called out “Leaky Cauldron!” before stepping inside the suddenly huge fireplace and spinning out of sight.

 

Out in Surrey, Steve Rogers was just finishing up a phone call to Bruce, filling him, and consequently Tony and Moira, in on what had been happening. “All right Bruce, we'll be back as soon as this Deputy Headmistress puts in an appearance. What a school administrator has to do with...No Tony,” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd been on speaker at Bruce's end, and Tony was going off about dragging this person before the courts. Steve had no idea how something like this would play in the British legal system, and honestly hoped Agent Coulson would be able to help them sort it all out. Bruce came back on the phone, having taken it off speaker to get away from Tony. “Yeah, it should be okay to take Harry out for a few hours. Don't think Inspector Stephens will need you, but I can call.” Steve listened for a moment, and said good bye before disconnecting the call. As he slipped the phone back in the belt pouch he kept it in, there was the sound of a pop gun behind him.

He whirled, reaching for the shield always strapped to his back. A woman stood there, in a smart, dark gray suit, her dark hair pulled back in a no nonsense bun that made her seem unfriendly. She had a small pair of pince nez glasses perched on her nose, emphasizing the severity of her appearance, compounded by the frown that glared from her bright blue eyes. She gazed at Steve, then looked over at Brian, who stood close by, and then the members of the police force that were also gathered.

Her steely blue gaze flickered over the assemblage, widening slightly when it alighted on Kingsley Shacklebolt, then Alastor Moody. She nodded a greeting to them, and then directed her attention back to the two superheroes.

“I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. To whom do I have the pleasure?” she introduced herself.

Steve stepped forward, his hand extended out to shake. “Captain Steven Rogers, ma'am. This is Captain Brian Braddock, of Her Majesty's Service, his partner Meggan.” He indicated the other two heroes with his free hand. McGonagall warily accepted the hand shake, as Steve moved on to the others. “Inspector Edward Hollan, MI5, and Agent Kingsley Shacklebolt of MI6. They are investigating this incident, while members of my team were among the search and rescue party. We encountered your...video message,” Steve settled on. He wasn't sure “holographic” was the proper word to use on someone who potentially knew less about the modern world than he did when pulled from the ice. “Perhaps we can work together to solve this case, and get a little boy a family that will help him.”

His speech managed to reassure Minerva, telling her that Harry was at least safe, if not okay as well.

“Yes, that it indeed what I am here for. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” Minerva requested, aware, as always, of the statute for secrecy.  
“Madam McGonagall, we would be delighted to escort you to the command center,” Steve invited, turning to offer his elbow like any gentleman.  
Stunned at the formal manners displayed by this strapping 20-something American, Minerva didn't hesitate to accept the offer and be led to the large tent still standing from when Bruce and Tony had initially arrived on scene. Her mind whirled, trying to come up with how to explain all of this to so many. Or perhaps she should find a way to get the Aurors on her side to suppress the information. When she'd left the message, she assumed only someone magical could trigger it.

 

Inside the tent, Steve and Brian asked the scientists for privacy while they talked. Meggan offered to assemble beverages, and put together a tray service to bring to the large conference table. Hollan, and the Aurors took seats on the far side of the table. Steve ably handed Minerva to her own seat, and went to stand at the head. He waited until everyone had something to drink before beginning.

Kingsley however, had his own questions before they started. “How private is this tent?” he asked, accepting the cup of tea from the elven girl.

“With a bit of help, quite,” Brian said, reaching to his belt and thumbing open a pouch. He retrieved a white noise generator and put it on the table. The magicals looked at the tiny, lighter shaped device curiously, but didn't bother to delay the coming talks with questions about how it worked.

“All right,” Steve began, putting down the mug of tea he'd accepted only as a courtesy. “Why don't we get down to brass tacks. We,” he indicated Brian, Meggan, and himself. “Know about magic. What we don't know is anything about the apparently secret sub-society that seems to thrive beneath our collective noses.” The stern look on his face had been teasingly coined the “Captain America is disappointed” look by his team and usually got answers when most benign methods failed. The holdouts required Natasha's brand of persuasion. Steve hoped he wouldn't need to call her from her work in clearing up the debris of the ruined house.

“Damn,” Kingsley cursed, choking on his tea. 

Minerva just looked resigned. “It's all right, Mr. Shacklebolt. I'll take the blame for this one,” she began.

“There's no blame at all Ms. McGonagall. You can't keep a secret like this hidden society for long,” Brian interrupted. “We know you exist, but efforts to meet with any of your people have so far, met with failure.”

Minerva and Kingsley shared a look. Kingsley spoke up, “May I call the rest of my team in for this meeting?”

Brian and Steve nodded, allowing Kingsley to go to the tent entrance and send a messenger to find Alastor and Theo. When the other agents arrived, only Theo showed surprise at the appearance of Minerva. Alastor simply nodded at her and sat gingerly in the metal folding chair Brian had set out for the newcomers. They were served tea, and Alastor surreptitiously scanned his for poison before sipping.

“Well then. Since you know we're magicals, perhaps we can dispense with some of the chin wagging and get to heart of it,” Alastor immeditely understood what was going on, and had assumed the leadership of their group.

“As you wish. Our team has the boy, your so called Savior. Why don't you tell us about that?” Steve said, his implacable face firm and dark as he settled forward on his toes.

Alastor and Minerva took turns telling the full story of the evil wizards, racial purification, and prophecies. Forty minutes later, Steve sat down in the closest chair, wearied to the core just from listening. He'd curse if he thought it would help. Instead, he rubbed his eyes with his hands, sent up a quick prayer for patience and leaned forward again. Here was yet another example of how little the world truly had changed since he'd fought in World War II.

“Okay, sounds to me like you are pinning a miracle on a baby, and then what? He gets dumped on someone's doorstep.” No one missed Minerva's flinch. “Well, that explains a lot.” Steve was angry, and while he didn't have all the answers, he was horrified at how callous this Headmaster had been. Minerva had explained about how the Potters hadn't gotten alone with the Dursleys, but this abandonment rankled. Harry was a bright boy under the reticence, and the team had taken to him easily. Bruce and Moira were hopeful of his complete recovery.

Steve had never wanted Phil Coulson's calm competence beside him more, than now. He wanted to throttle these people, but no, Captain America didn't do those things. Now he spoke into the silence, “Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are looking after Harry. Our liaison is due to arrive in the next few days. I'd like to invite one of you to join us on Muir Island, to talk about getting us, and potentially other need to know parties, up to snuff on this hidden society. Brian, Meggan, and I will leave you discuss who's going. Inspector?” Steve invited Hollan to take over the meeting. Hollan nodded, grim faced. This would take some doing. The three heroes left the tent and stepped away from the crowd of scientists to have their own conference.

“Well, this is a can of worms,” Steve said with a deep sigh.

Meggan looked back at the tent, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Meggan?” Brian asked, watching her.

“Just thinking,” she said, quietly. Her brows furrowed in deep thought before she continued, “There was a ripple among the magic users when Captain Rogers mentioned the island. It was like they'd suddenly remembered some forgotten bit of information. Muir sings to me, Brian. I've said as much before,” she trailed off, still watching the tent. The others also turned to stare.

A silvery form shot from between canvas folds, shortly followed by another.

“Message system?” Brian asked.

“It was magical in nature,” Meggan corroborated.

“I've got to call the others, warn them of company. Moira needs to know we're dragging someone else into this mess,” Steve mumbled, pulling out his cell and moving a few steps away on the road that had been blocked off for the last few days.

First he called Clint, Natasha, and Thor, giving them a heads up so they could get the jet ready to go back to the island. Then he called Bruce to warn him and Tony, and then finally, Moira. Clint called back, saying that he'd heard from Coulson, who'd arrive at the airfield within the hour. A knot in Steve's gut loosened with this news, and he grinned for the first time in several hours, telling Clint that he'd be happy to wait for the Agent. HE knew one of the three of his teammates would head back to to the airfield while the others finished their clean up work on the site.

The tent reopened some 30 minutes alter, the man called Shacklebolt walking out to meet them.

“Against our better advice,” he said without preamble, brows drawn down, giving the man a sinister appearance, “Professor McGonagall will accompany you. She claims that it would be easier for her to be absent.”

“You have our word she will come to no harm,” Meggan offered before either of the men could. They readily agreed.

Shacklebolt's frown deepened for a moment, before accepting the fey woman at her word.

Steve's phone chimed then, alerting him that the Quinjet was prepped and waiting. He shot off alerts to the rest of his team to meet him at the command tent. “What of Inspector Hollan?” he asked the wizard.

“He will remain behind, get his superiors “read in” I believe were the words used,” Shacklebolt said, a brief flicker of confusion going over his face at the unfamiliar phrase.

“Understood. As soon as the rest of my team arrives, we'll be ready to go. If the professor needs to alert someone as to her extended absence, she should do so.” Steve made no offers, knowing they had their own methods for communication. Shacklebolt nodded and turned back to the tent.

 

At Hogwarts, one of the myriad, previously defunct little devices Albus owned to keep track of his various interests whirred slowly to life. The little copper device had an orbiting diamond shaped piece of crystal. That crystal pulsed a lurid red from the blood encased inside. Albus barely heard it start up, so focused was he on the latest from the Wizengamot. As the device got going, two more started up, once had a whistle alert that promptly blew once the tracker had a solid trace on its subject. The sound startled Albus, though he became excited once he realized what he'd heard.

“Excellent,” he said, getting up from the cushy chair behind the heavy oak desk. The phoenix perched on a pine and gold stand nearby chirped an interrogative. Albus looked over at his familiar. “It looks like Mr. Potter has reappeared from his hiding place. Which is fantastic news, Fawkes. Now I should be able to get to the bottom of this, and get Harry back with his relatives,” Albus explained to the bird.

Fawkes, who hated the name, sung a low, mournful sound, confusing Albus for a moment. 

“It will be all right my friend. It's all for the greater good.” Albus turned back to his devices, attempting to triangulate Harry's location. Once he felt he had a lock on an area, he requested Fawkes to transport him from the castle.

After the small fireball died off, several of the magical portraits of former Headmasters hanging on the walls of the office stirred to life.

“When will Albus learn that this Greater Good thing is wrong?” a very old, very ornately framed portrait midway up the east wall spoke in heavily accented English. The man depicted wore a paisley waist coat, and button front shirt with a tie all in Slytherin colors. He was an older man, not quite fully white haired, but nearly so, with pale blue eyes that haunted whomever caught his gaze.

“Daffyd, he can't see the trees for the forest anymore,” another portrait, this time of a younger woman, dressed in Hufflepuff colors, spoke up from further down the same wall.

“Leesa, Daffyd, everyone, please. The castle is fully aware of the problems Albus is causing,” another wizard, this time, hanging on the southern wall said.

“We want to know when the castle will toss him out on his arse!” Daffyd called to that portrait.

“I am not privy to the thoughts of the castle's spirit. We may well have to wait until Potter comes to school,” the southern portrait admonished.

“Hmpf. We support and advise the current Headmaster, as well you all know it!” an irascible wizard, dark of hair and eye, growled from his place near Albus' desk.

“That's enough Black. You somehow became even more sycophantic as a portrait than you ever were as Headmaster. Still your tongue lest we banish you from your coveted spot,” the southern portrait snapped out. The walls of the office shivered under the commanding tone. This portrait was the key to the magic on all the others. Only with this one wizard's approval did they change places, based on who could help the current Headmaster the most. The portrait had been on the walls for several hundred years, and no one remembered the wizard's name, or when he was Headmaster. The portraits subsided into silence, waiting for the further development of Albus' 'plans'.

 

Hundreds of miles away, in the shadow of Inverness Castle, Bruce Banner, and Tony Stark took their charge on a brief whirlwind shopping spree. It needed to be short, mostly in deference to to the boy's as yet low energy levels, and the trio only made it to a few stores before having to stop in deference to that lack of energy. Each member of the party got a few items, since until custody could be established for the benefit of the Crown, Bruce and Tony would be staying over on Muir Island to look after Harry. The older gentlemen hadn't packed more than a week's worth of clothing, and hadn't requested much outside of their more portable experiments, though Pepper had included some clothing for them. 

Tony had received a call only that morning, from the flight crew that was bringing in the equipment and supplies that he and Bruce had requested. Tony instructed them to lay in a plan to land at Inverness, and they would then fly to the island.

Lunch was at a local pub, with Tony requesting a private room to protect Harry. They were bustled into a dimly lit side room normally reserved for parties.

“We've got this place til we're ready to leave. Harry, how're you doing?” Tony flopped into the carved wooden chair, wincing when one of the arms caught him in the kidneys. Bruce's lips quirked into a small smile as he lowered himself into a similar, nearby chair. Harry just drifted around the room, looking at pictures on the walls, and briefly touching some of the various knickknacks. Tony had to put down the briefcase armor, mentally cataloging what he could change regarding its weight without sacrificing its performance and protective ability. 

When the waiter appeared to take their orders, Harry froze. The waiter ignored him, directing his questions to Bruce and Tony, mostly due to how young Harry appeared. Bruce quietly got up and moved in front of Harry, who was trying to both remain unnoticed and yet visible. Logically the boy knew he was safe, but this stranger could destroy it all. Bruce blocked Harry's view, and slowly reached out to touch the boy on the shoulder. Harry flinched, then stilled, eyes traveling up Bruce's body to lock onto his gently smiling face. Just that was enough to center Harry, and he gave Bruce a tremulous smile in return.

Tony just distracted and nattered at the waiter, ordering for all three of them, and getting the man out of the room as fast as possible. As soon as the door clicked shut, Bruce knelt and gathered Harry into his arms.

“It's okay, Harry. No one will hurt you or try to take you from us,” he said in a low tone. Harry nodded, still stiff in Bruce's arms. 

Tony watched the door, fiddling absently with his phone. “Here, Harry. JARVIS has some games you might like,” he called, once he got the phone situated correctly. The games were partially educational, and would tell JARVIS where Harry stood in his studies.

The pair broke apart, allowing Harry to come to the table and sit in one of the chairs furthest from the door. Tony let him be, giving the phone to Bruce to pass over. Bruce settled in the middle of the table, to support Harry, and still be able to talk to Tony while they waited for their food to arrive.

The waiter came in just once before the food was ready, bringing their drinks, and spares, on Tony's request, citing privacy to discuss business with Bruce. Harry ignored it all, keeping his attention on the phone games.

Food arrived shortly, and Tony had the waiter deposit all the plates on his end of the table, playing up that he had to 'do Dad duty' and cut up the chicken that Harry had expressed a preference for, making it easier for him to eat. None of them minded playing up the idea that Harry might be younger than he really was, making it easier to cover Harry's shyness and outright fear.

Only once the waiter was gone, did Bruce convince Harry to stop playing with Tony's phone and try to eat.

It was, on the whole, a novel experience for Harry. He was incredibly nervous being out in public to begin with, having his opinions actually matter, and not being treated as a drudge, fit only to carry the bags as they wandered from store to store. Neither man had wanted to try the toy store just yet, even knowing that Harry could use something. Harry kept waiting for the shouting, or shoving to begin, as they always had when he'd had no choice but to accompany the Dursleys on their errands.

Lunch passed quietly once the food had been served.

When they were ready to leave, the maitre d informed them of a gathering of paparazzi that had gathered at the front of the pub, making Tony curse, and Bruce frown. Harry trembled faintly, but otherwise didn't move from Bruce's side. Only Bruce's reassuring hand kept him from diving under the table.

“Tony,” Bruce's quiet, sure voice stilled the other man's vituperation. Bruce turned his hazel eyes on the maitre d. “Would you let us out the kitchen entrance?” he asked, the rumble of something larger, angrier starting to become audible in his usual tenor. The maitre d took a solid step back from the menace clearly coming from this unassuming, scruffy looking man.

“Yes, of course. If you'd all follow me,” the man said, beginning to sweat a little. 

Bruce smiled, but it lacked the full warmth it normally had. He nudged Harry on the shoulder, prompting the boy to move, and then reached out with his other hand to get Tony's attention.

“Yeah, coming,” Tony mumbled, still hot under the collar.

The trio slipped through the kitchen, following the black suited maitre d to the rear door where the staff accepted its food deliveries. They came out into a narrow alleyway, attention caught by the flash of some sparkling thing at the far end near the street. 

Tony turned to see what it might be, seeing a strange, elderly man dressed in a bright teal bathrobe shot with silver starbursts that seemed to project their own light rather than reflect the sun cascading into the alley. “What the hell?” Tony squawked, confused by the weirdly dressed old man. Bruce turned to look, tucking Harry even closer to his own body.

The man turned at the exclamation, took in the three of them, and beamed a huge, tooth baring smile that immediately put Bruce's back up. “Harry, m'boy!” the old man began, striding down the alley. “It is so wonderful to see you after all these years.” There was a grandfatherly like persona projecting from the old man, but it did nothing to soothe any of the three from the restaurant. Tony and Bruce had no recollections of any such person in their lives, and Harry was simply afraid of anyone who appeared to be interested in him. Harry reached up and clutched onto Bruce's belt for security's sake.

“Excuse me, who are you?” Bruce asked, wary. Hulk was buzzing angrily in his head, testing to see if he needed out.

“Oh, do forgive me! In my excitement to discover my friend's missing child, my manners have slipped. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” he gave a bow, being yet too far away to shake hands. “And I am a very good friend of Petunia Dursley. She has been absolutely worried sick about young Harry here. However did you find him?” The smarminess from this person oozed over Bruce in a way he hadn't experienced since he last spent time with the man that was his father. 

“Tony, suit,” he growled, eyes edging from hazel to a clear, burning green as Hulk took a more firm presence.

“Yup,” Tony said, dropping the metal suitcase to the ground with a clang before engaging its protocols. The case unfolded before quickly reforming around Tony's body.

“Harry,” Bruce addressed the child who trembled at his back. “Do you know this man?” The trembling increased as Harry worried more. He didn't want to go back. They wouldn't make him, would they? “It's all right Harry. I need you to do something for me,” Bruce's gentle voice had an unusual basal note, something darker, more primitive. Instead of frightening Harry any further, it reassured him, somehow. He seemed to remember it, though he didn't know how he could have heard such a sound before. 

“Okay,” Harry's tremulous voice was barely heard over the whirring and clicking of Tony's armor.

“You're going to stay with Tony. He'll be able to protect you if necessary.” Bruce was calmly toeing out of his shoes, and unbuttoning his shirt. The dove gray silk came off his shoulders and he pulled one sleeve off before handing the bulk of the fabric to Harry. “Need to you hold on to this as well. Now, go over to Tony.” He nudged the boy away from him, barely turning his body to do so, keeping his bright green gaze pinned firmly on the bearded old man. “Tony,” he said, starting to move forward to meet the old man.

“Yeah Big Guy, I got him. Do your thing,” Tony said. Harry grasped the shirt tight to his chest and stumbled over to Tony as the armor finished assembling around him.

With the helmet on, Tony called for the limo, then asked JARVIS to call the police. Harry scrabbled for something to hold on to, prompting Tony to pick him up. The maitre d never came out of the restaurant, but there was a faint click as the dead bolt was thrown on the heavy kitchen door.

“Now, now gentlemen. Surely we can solve this without resorting to violence?” Albus said, pulling a thin stick from deep inside the bell shaped sleeve of his robe. He wasn't sure why the one man was disrobing, as fisticuffs weren't that much of a modern thing, so far as he knew, but he would be ready, regardless.

Bruce decided to err on the side of caution, and let the Hulk take control, morphing their body into a dark gray-green seven foot powerhouse. The sun warmed cobblestones broke under the sudden increase in mass as Hulk planted his feet gaining his equilibrium. Albus watched the shapechanger, trying to hide his shock at how such a creature was able to walk around freely without the Muggles doing anything about it.

“Well that's an interesting trick, my good man. Here's one of my own,” Albus said, raising the stick high, and bringing it down across his body. A flash of yellow light erupted from the end of it, racing to the end of the alley where Hulk stood, covering Tony and little Harry.

Hulk took complete control, done with niceties. If this stick waver was going to shoot lights, then he'd have to deal with him, permanently. Hulk knew all about lights that could hurt, and wouldn't stand for any of them to do damage to Tin Man and Harry. He moved to slap the bolt of energy out of the air, but instead, it enveloped his hand and traveled up his arm like localized lightning before fizzling out over his shoulder.

Albus was surprised to see the green shapeshifter shake off the overpowered stunner. It confirmed to him that the creature was at least part troll, and he'd have a difficult time putting it down.

Tony retreated to the farthest end of the alley, tucking the hip that Harry sat on into the corner of the walls. “JARVIS, what the hell?” he asked his AI, who had been recording everything.

“I am unsure sire. Energy readings, including that for beta radiation, are climbing. Neither of you are in danger yet, but I predict that will change in approximately 15 minutes.”

“And the police?”

“Approximately five minutes out.”

“Battle will be over by then. Alert the team, and the plane. We might have to get out of here in a hurry.”

“Yes sir.”

Tony retracted the faceplate just as another bolt of energy, this time lurid orange, hit the Hulk who was determinedly striding forward. He roared, falling forward to his knees from the shock and pain.

The stench of scorched hair and flesh filled the alleyway. And things got interesting after that.

The paparazzi that had gathered out front of the restaurant collectively freaked out at the horrendous bellow and resulting echo of something heavy hitting the ground. The buildings shook around them, with a few windows cracking, but nothing was seriously damaged. The few reporters and photographers on the edge of the pack found their courage and went around the side of the old building, and discovered a frightening scene.

Reporters frantically reached for their recording devices while photographers snapped dozens of images of the tableau before them. Rare that it was, that American heroes Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk were in Scotland to begin with, but facing down some kind of Gandalf like being, in the middle of town?

Distantly, Hulk and Tony registered Harry crying out as Hulk did, the sound like a knife in their hearts. Tony knelt to better protect the boy, who refused to look away from the fight. Tony admired that, but worried for what set backs he might have later.

Dumbledore froze at the sound of sirens, the trigger word of another spell dying on his lips. “Well,” he said, straightening, “This won't do at all.” He cast a new spell, generating a message with a silvery ghost like phoenix that shot off into the atmosphere like a rocket. He looked sternly at the heroes at the other end of the ally, nothing more then, than a disappointed grandfather. “Gentlemen, really. We cold have avoided this whole affair if you'd just turned the boy over. I've summoned the Ministry, who will help me put this right,” Dumbledore informed them, as though all three were caught stealing cookies and had broken the jar.

“Yanno,” Tony said, standing back up from his crouch, “I'm curious as to what legal leg you have to stand on, Mr. Wizard,” Dumbledore flinched at the nickname. “But I'm sure we can have lawyers, sorry, solicitors, discuss it over high tea?”

Hulk snorted in distracted amusement, still blocking access to the rest of the alley. Dumbledore blinked, taken aback by the giant looming over him.

“That is quite enough of that,” he snapped, wand slashing through the air again. Thick twisting rope appeared from nothing to tangle around the great green beats in an attempt to subdue him. Hulk roared again, shaking window panes in a 2 block radius. He fought the ever tightening bands of braided sisal, getting fiber burns along his arms and legs for his trouble.

Tony watched the giant form of his lover topple over with a reverberating crash, fearing the worst. He tightened his grip on Harry, quietly saying, “We may have to jet, little man. Promise me you'll keep your head down and tucked into the chest plate, eyes closed?”

Harry nodded, frightened and exhilarated at the prospect of flying with the armor. He'd only seen pictures up until now.

Tony turned his attention back to the struggling giant and the smug old man. “Hey Whiskers!” he shouted, “You're burning bridges you need to stand on!”

Hulk growled, nearly incoherent by this point, “Shell Head, protect boy!” he managed, still struggling with the magical ropes. Dumbledore blanched, Trolls did not speak the Queen's English! This was wizardry beyond even his great experience.

A new series of sounds impinged on everyone. What sounded to Tony like muted gunshots rippled down the alley from the wizard's end, along with a sharp increase in the volume of sirens, indicating some kind of police action was about to take place.

“Dammit,” he snarled, realizing everything was now completely out of his control, as though he'd had any before the stranger had started throwing his energy bolts around. Tony didn't dare help Hulk, not with having to protect Harry and keep him away from this creeper. “Hulk! Think small, and get free. Meet at the jet!” he shouted, hoping something would get through the rising rage. He glanced down at Harry. “We gotta go.” And, dropping the faceplate of the helmet down over his face, his free hand came up to cup the boy's head protectively against the chest plate, Tony blasted off into the sky, jet boots flaming.

Dumbledore was left cursing as the red and silver armor shot away, taking the Potter scion out of his immediate reach. This should have been easy. The beast before him slowed its struggles, apparently able to understand the orders from its master. Dumbledore took the chance to try and gain a tactical advantage by trying Legilimency on the creature. Such actions didn't always work on non humans, especially if they weren't blessed with human level intelligence. But a being capable of speech, and taking orders? Dumbledore believed he had a good chance of learning something.

Hulk tried to calm down, Bruce's tricks for control in the forefront of his mind. But oh, the crazy bearded man was getting closer, and Hulk wanted nothing more than to rip this puny human to tiny pieces for attempting to hurt Harry. Somehow, in just a few, short days, this little boy had become the second most precious thing to Hulk.

He growled as the stranger came closer, unable to break free of the bonds that held him fast.

“Creature, you will tell me what I need to know,” Dumbledore commanded, all hints of the gentle grandfather persona gone.

“Headmaster?” a new voice echoed in the alley.

Dumbledore swore, frustrated that he'd have to delay interrogating this beast. “In here, Auror!” he called. “Be careful please. I have a dangerous creature subdued, but I'm not sure how long the spell will last.”

A team of six Aurors entered the alley, wands drawn. Dumbledore didn't recognize any of them as anything other than former students. No Order members were a part of this group.

“Sir? There's an incoming group of Muggle law enforcement. Shall we proceed as normal, or let them deal with the, whatever that is,” the squad leader, a brunette woman with clear blue eyes, bearing a pale brown wand said as she came abreast of the Headmaster. They stood near enough to Hulk's head to feel his exhales against their ankles.

“Proceed as normal, Auror,” he allowed. “I am going to try speaking with this creature.”

“It talks?” the Auror was surprised. On first glance, she assumed it was a Troll, a creature of limited intelligence and no ability to communicate that the wizarding world knew of.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. 

The Auror shook her head, wondering at the fallacy of teaching such a beast to speak. She turned back to her squad and ordered them to deal with the Muggles drifting around the street and sidewalks. She looked back at Dumbledore. “You're not injured, sir?” she asked, respectfully.

“No my dear. Completely hale, and whole,” he assured her. Dumbledore then bent over the Troll's head, and caught its gaze. He whispered “Legilimens” and expected to drop into a tumult of animalistic rumination. Instead, his mental spear bounced off a solid wall of cloudy gray nothing, ejecting him back into his own mind.

Confused, Dumbledore shook the cobwebs from his thoughts and pondered the implications. From the creature handlers he'd known, and a variety of texts on the subject, he remembered that he should have gotten some kind of hint as to the creature's behavior and any implanted orders. This time, an unyielding nothing. He wondered if the creature's master had the power to erase the being's mind.

Thus distracted, Dumbledore retreated, putting the creature out of his mind as he contemplated the man in the metal suit.

 

Hulk reached an accord with Bruce, and shrank enough to escape the magical ropes. They slithered free and escaped below ground, yanking open a fire access door and ducking through to a tunnel under the alley*. A plain silver colored watch that had survived the transformation on Hulk's left wrist suddenly bleeped with a subtle tempo, demanding attention.

“Watch,” Hulk growled, and the device's tone turned to a happy chirp once, then again before JARVIS' computerized voice filled the old tunnel.

“Hulk, are you free from that man?”

“Yes. Tony, boy, safe?” Hulk demanded, face set in an expression of dangerous promise if his people were at all harmed.

“Indeed. Mr. Stark got himself and Master Harry away from the alley without a problem. Sir, are you all right? The biometric readings show distress.”

While JARVIS was reporting on the others, Hulk had calmed enough to fully surrender to Bruce, however, the injuries sustained remained behind.

“I'm fine, J. Tell Tony to get down to the police, file a report,” Bruce said, half out of breath as he ripped his pants further, making a rag to daub at the blistered cuts on his chest.

“I have also summoned EMT personnel to your location, Doctor. The readings from the watch are not encouraging,” JARVIS said, worry present in his tone.

“As you wish, J. I'll just sit and wait. Need to...catch...my...breath...” Bruce was reduced to short pants as he couldn't get his chest to expand enough for proper intake. The pain was increasing enough to cause distraction, and he missed the thread of JARVIS' answer.

Moments later, he heard the distant clatter of people entering the hidden chamber under the restaurant. Only the repeated “Friendlies” from JARVIS kept him from Hulking out again. Bruce slipped into unconsciousness as uniformed emergency medical personnel reached his slumped over body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I took some serious liberties with Inverness. Forgive me! * - I googled for underground tunnels, and found hints, so I'm going with the idea that there were. C'mon, the place is hundreds of years old, you know there has to be ruins under the modern city!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of battle with Dumbledore. What does the team discover?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I make no claim to either JKR's Harry Potter universe, or Disney/Marvel's MCU.
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of injuries, medical professionals believe one thing, the team knows another.

Minerva was party to a brightly colored whirlwind that abruptly left Surrey, once word came of the encounter between Tony, Bruce, and the Headmaster. Cursing under her breath in Gaelic, she quickly followed behind Captains Rogers and Braddock, and the fey girl, Meggan, as they commandeered a vehicle and made for the cul-de-sac three streets over, where the Quinjet waited for them.

Captain Rogers quickly and tersely introduced the other members of the team, pilot Clint Barton and co-pilot Natasha Romanov. As they made the final pre-flight checks, Rogers turned to the other unknown.

"Thor, can you get to Tony and Bruce, and help?" he asked the tall, armored blond standing in the cargo area of the jet.

"Aye, I believe I can get there with all speed," the man's accent was unknown to Minerva, vaguely Scandinavian, but otherworldly. "Pray excuse me, madam," he said, giving Minerva a brief bow before sweeping out of the jet, blood red cape billowing. A hammer appeared in his hand as he strode with solid purpose down the ramp.

"All right, update?" Rogers asked, as the ramp closed up behind Thor's departure, and the others took seats to strap in.

"Unclear," Natasha began. "Tony radioed in, and sounded pretty freaked out. It sounded like he ran into Gandalf. JARVIS told me that the local authorities are having a showdown with some magicals."

Minerva could have groaned right then. What had Albus done? His fervent disregard for Muggle authority and burning desire to keep Harry Potter hidden might have cost them that day..

“These are likely Aurors, Captain,” Minerva supplied, coming to stand next to Rogers by the cockpit. “They are analogous to your police forces, but won't hesitate to 'shoot first and ask later', as the saying goes.” She feared it would cause an even larger problem if it became known that the Potter child was missing and unaccounted for. It was at that moment, Minerva realized she had a very important decision to make. One that would lead to an irrevocable stance as far as Purebloods would care. After nearly 500 years of her clan's support to Wizarding kind, Minerva McGonagall was perched on a precipice to a chasm of change.

“Captain, we need to get there before the Obliviator Squads do so. If they get a chance to alter the peoples' memories, the next step is out of our hands,” she continued, making her choice. The boy needed a secure, loving family, and she'd be damned if Albus got his way anymore. She knew she needed to live up to her vows.

“Obliviator?” Steve said the word slowly, testing the syllables of the unfamiliar word. Something in his own mind latched on to the word, and he found himself briefly thinking of some covert missions he and the Commandos had done during the war.

“Yes,” Minerva was solemn, drawing Steve's attention back to the present, “They are wizards and witches specifically tasked with keeping the secret of our world. They have immense talent in charms, specifically, memory altering ones.” She was lecturing, and knew it, but the dry facts were important more than any embellishment.

“You two need to strap in so we can get there,” Clint advised, hand on the throttle as he looked up and behind. Rogers nodded and escorted Minerva to a jump seat.

“Pardon me for asking, but you appear rather comfortable interacting with all of this strangeness,” the Captain said, helping her to settled the straps and secure the harness.

“I've been the person responsible for introducing mixed blood and first generation wizards and witches to our world. It has been of immense benefit to keep some contact with the non-magical side of things,” Minerva explained. Her time serving in the two world wars was of little importance here, though something about this Captain Rogers kept reminding her of the charismatic young man who led a group of special forces in the 2nd war.

“Why the emphasis on blood status?” he asked, shifting his stance on the bulkhead floor as the jet lifted into the air. Barton muttered a few expletives about the Captain's willful ignorance of flight safety.

“The usual line is that the more generations of wizards in your family, the stronger you are, magically. Which was true at one point.” Minerva shook her head. “But now, many first generations wizards are attending the school, and appear to be stronger than the current scions, and their parents combined. They still practice intermarriage as well as arranging them when children are quite young. Advantageous matches are much sought after.”

“History, as well as modern science, have been able to determine how limiting that is for a community,” Captain Britain joined the conversation.

“Believe me, I understand this. But change is VERY hard to put into effect, because of the strong attachment to purity and status. I'm not even sure what could be the necessary catalyst,” Minerva explained. There were theories and legends, but it was not something she had spent a lot of time on. The Department of Mysteries was probably the place to go, she speculated privately. It might be worth pursuing later after this new crisis. The group fell into silence as Barton and Romanov directed the jet to Scotland. Minerva prayed that Thor wasn't too late!

 

 

Thor was not late at all. Indeed, the Thunderer arrived on scene in Inverness in a flurry of whipped clouds and misty rain. He found Iron Man and their small ward outside a pub, speaking with uniformed police officers. Thor landed amidst the sounds of gently rolling thunder and flashing lightning.

Harry giggled, having seen the abilities of the Thunder God a few days earlier. The little boy grinned a wide, face splitting smile up at the newcomer and wiggled the fingers of his free hand in greeting. Thor briefly acknowledged the boy with a smile and head nod before turning a scowl on the crowd.

“Iron Man,” Thor said, interrupting the silence that had fallen with his appearance. His voice carried hints of the thunder that died off as he stood, cape whipping in the breeze. Tony turned his head to see his teammate, the tension stiffening his posture easing slightly.

“Thor, good to see you,” Tony said, relief incredibly apparent in his tone of voice. The crowd being watched by police appeared to be mostly the press, but Thor caught sight of a few people that stuck out, simply because they seemed to be wearing maroon choral robes with odd silver patches on the shoulders and left breast. These individuals all carried thin sticks openly in their hands, each a different wood if Thor could judge from so far.

“How may I assist?” he asked, bringing his gaze back to Tony and Harry.

“Just” Tony briefly closed his eyes, and Thor immediately noticed the tiny signs of stress, worry, and fear on his teammate's face. “I've updated the police. Bruce has been taken to the nearest hospital.” He sighed, “And Gandalf has disappeared.” Uncharacteristically, Tony sounded defeated.

Thor frowned at this news. “Is there ought that we can do? There are oddly dressed strangers to the back of the crowd yonder,” he only nodded his golden head in the direction of the robed individuals.

“Oh fantastic,” Tony spat. “We're being monitored. Officer Brown, a word please,” Tony called over the uniformed officer that he'd been dealing with since law enforcement arrived.

“Yes Mr. Stark?” a young woman in blue turned back from the group she stood with and moved closer.

“We have some potential people of interest at the back of the crowd. Look for robes and sticks,” he quietly explained. The officer left to spread the word amongst the other police officers to try and detain one of the wizards without sparking panic in the crowd.

It took the arrival of the rest of the Avengers to cause enough distraction for the police to stop and question a couple of Aurors.

Minerva stayed hidden, through the use of a Notice Me Not charm on herself, cast as soon as she spotted the red robes. She could hopefully avoid discovery, assuming there weren't spell canceling wards up in the little street.

As reporters clamored to get the attention of the spandex clad newcomers, Inverness police were able to surround and detain just two Aurors. Another six managed to get away via Apparition. Their disappearance confounded the crowd for awhile. Police and a few of the heroes had their hands full, redirecting the crowd away from the unexplainable.

Tony went to give Officer Brown the contact information to the Surrey department, and Constable Stephens specifically, so that the case involving Harry had a record of this attack. He'd also had JARVIS leave a detailed email with accompanying video of what happened for the Constable. After a twenty minute round of autographs, the heroes were able to get the crowd of onlookers and reporters to disperse. There had been no avoiding pictures with Harry in them, so Tony alerted Pepper and the head of PR so they could the engine started on rumor control.

“So, can we go to the hospital? Need to check on Bruce,” Tony agitated. He would have been shifting on the spot if not for the fact that the suit translated each muscle twitch into some kind of movement, and Harry was still firmly attached to him. Tony did not want to accidentally hut the boy because of his inability to stand still.

“You're all right? And Harry?” Steve questioned, sending the last reporter packing.

“Yeah Cap, we're both fine. Right little man?” the question was directed at Harry, who stared wide eyed at the team, who until that moment, hadn't all worn their uniforms in his presence. Prior to that day, he'd only seen Thor in his armor. Overcome with shyness, Harry ducked his head against the armor. “Well, he's fine, if freaked out. Hell, so am I. Who the hell was that?” Tony tried to hitch Harry up on his hip before remembering the armor. “Harry, go with Natasha for a moment, okay? I need to get out of the armor,” he said, putting back Harry on his feet.

Natasha came over and stood near enough that Harry was reassured by her presence. “We've got a representative from the wizarding world with us. I'm sure she'll be able to answer all of our questions.” She placed her hand comfortingly on Harry's shoulder.

“Good.” Tony pulled at the hidden latches at the shoulders of the armor and it folded away and off his body, collapsing back into the suitcase that made it easy to transport.

Minerva canceled her spell as soon as the police had taken the wizards into custody and removed them from the scene. She stepped forward from the corner of the building, eyes on Harry. She saw a scrawny, underfed child with a wild mop of black hair and a bent pair of spectacles. Visible on his left arm was an off white cast reaching from his elbow to his wrist, and some kind of splint on his right hand. It was these that made her frown.

“Madam,” Capt Rogers addressed her, “May I introduce Tony Stark, our inventor and engineer. Tony, this is Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.”

The two individuals sized each other up.

“Madam,” Tony said, nodding his head. “Welcome to our little group. I hope we can be of assistance to each other.” Holding back his usual acerbic attitude was something of an effort given his state of agitation, and his current feelings about magic users. He really hoped this old woman could really answer their questions.

“Mr. Stark,” Minerva returned the nod, quite reserved in the face of yet more unknown.

“I think we're done here kids,” Tony tried to move the team along. He was very concerned about Bruce, and was beginning to see all the delays as completely unnecessary. His dedication to the boy prevented him from just rocketing off in the armor in search of Bruce.

Clint appeared from the alley, holding a small, clear plastic bag in one hand. There was some kind of object inside. “Did some recon. We can bug out,” he reported, placing the bag in one of the pouches hanging from his belt.

“All right, let's go then,” Steve agreed to leaving the scene, satisfied there wasn't anything else there for them to do. He informed the remaining police, and handed over one of the cards he kept, that had all the team's public contact info on it. This way, updates on the situation could be sent directly to them.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief as they finally got moving. Natasha scooped up Harry with a quiet warning, slinging him around to her back. Harry giggled as he wrapped skinny limbs around her shoulders and waist to hold on as Natasha skipped away to the jet. The others followed like ducklings, Steve carrying on a quiet conversation with the Lady McGonagall.

“Captain Rogers, I would like to offer my assistance in getting your teammate back on his feet,” Minerva offered. She had an idea that just might expand on the good will she needed from the team of heroes.

“I'm sure the staff at the hospital,” Steve began.

Minerva placed a restraining hand on his arm, “No Captain, I don't believe they will be able to handle it. Magic needs to be handled by magic. Albus Dumbledore is a proficient and powerful wizard, so there is certain to be lingering effects from whatever spell he cast on your friend.” The explanation dismayed Steve, and he looked at Tony who was just a few steps ahead of them. Minerva followed his gaze. “They are together?” she asked in a moment of clarity. Tony's face was pinched with worry, and he carried a soft gray shirt that he ran through his fingers in a worrying way.

“Yes,” Rogers replied, tense. He hoped she wouldn't take issue with it.

“That is all to the good,” Minerva promised with a gentle smile. She could tell that her words helped the captain. It was uncommon that witches and wizards found their lovers amongst their own sex, but it did happen. Usually only when the Muggleborn returned to their world, as Purebloods were still quite strict about these matters. At least, as far as the public perception was concerned. Then Minerva explained, "If I might, there is something I can do for young Mr. Potter, but," she paused, both the conversation and her forward movement. "It needs to happen before we get to your aeroplane."

Steve stopped a few feet away, having been lost in his own thoughts. Something about this woman kept sparking memories of the war, and he was at a loss to figure it out. For now, he had to keep his attention on matters in front of his nose. "What will you do?" he asked, if a touch harshly, feeling overprotective right at that moment.

"I am proficient with most medical charms, and can help Harry heal faster than by mundane methods alone," Minerva offered.

Steve sighed, one hand coming up to remove the cowl from his head. Minerva was startled to discover he was a twin to the Captain she remembered from the war. But now was not the time to worry about it.

Steve called Tony over.

"Cap?" Tony asked when he got close.

"Madam McGonagall has offered to heal Harry as a gesture of goodwill, and to show how she might be able to help Bruce," Steve explained with a movement of his hand in Minerva's direction.

"And this goodwill?" Tony directed flat, angry brown eyes toward the witch, upset by this newest delay.

"I can prove my own abilities, and help you. Help Harry," she said in quiet earnestness. "I can tell you now Mr. Stark, that you will need someone to help you navigate the Wizarding side of things. My world is very archaic, and even those of us born to it don't always know everything." Minerva ignored the anger directed at her with the ease of long practice. She reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a slim stick, varnished to a shiny, light brown. "Now, can Mr. Potter join us?"

Tony turned and called for Natasha to bring Harry. The rest of the team had milled about the open loading door to the Quinjet, waiting for Steve and Minerva. Natasha quickly made her way to Tony's side, Harry still bouncing on her back. She quirked an eyebrow at Tony, and then Steve, but remained silent.

"Mr. Potter, we have not yet been formally introduced. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am a magic user, or witch," she began, holding her wand loosely in her right hand. "Do you know what magic is?" 

Harry shook his head from behind Natasha's. "Freak stuff," he allowed.

Minerva blinked, shooting a quick, assessing glare at Steve and Tony. Neither had an answer for that. "Well, some people might believe so, but magic is," she thought for a moment, "Magic is life. It gives us many opportunities non-magic users don't have, or have to use technology to overcome." She conjured a stuffed stag with a short wave of her wand. The animal had a striking resemblance to the animagus form of a former student, and the father of Harry.

Harry looked at both Steve and Tony, who each nodded that he could accept the gift. "Thank you," he said quietly, reaching out one hand to take the stuffed animal. It reminded him of something from a far off dream, and made him feel warm inside.

"You're quite welcome. Now, normally, we'd have to go shopping at a store to find such a plush, but with magic, I can make one especially for you. That is magic. Another thing magic can do, is fix what is broken, or injured, including our bodies."

"Could magic fix Mr. Tony?" Harry asked abruptly, startling all the Avengers.

Minerva glanced at Tony, but he could only shake his head, not willing to impart the knowledge of his issue right then. "It might be able to. But first, why don't we fix your arm and fingers?"

"Can we? The cast is itchy," Harry looked ashamed as soon as he said it, knowing from experience that he'd always been given things only grudgingly, or only given kicks to the back of his legs, or fists to his head. His time with the Avengers had proven that this need not always be the case, but he spent a lot of time confused.

"Everyone has problems with a cast, Harry. Tony and Clint probably have a lot of stories to tell," Steve laughed.

"Hey now!" Tony defended, also laughing. Natasha chuckled, and put Harry down on his own feet, retaining the stuffed stag.

"Of course Harry," Minerva said, kneeling down to his level, "Please hold out your arms. And sonare iniuriam," she said twice, once over each skinny arm. "There, though I'm sure Mr. Stark would like to confirm that the breaks are healed?"

"J?" Tony asked his AI, listening in from the com-buds the team wore almost all the time.

"Scanning," was the tinny reply. "Scans confirm Madam McGonagall successfully healed Mr. Potter's injuries." JARVIS reported after five minutes.

"Then we can remove this," Minerva cast a low powered scissor spell and cut the cast off Harry's left arm. "And this splint is removable, so there goes that." Minerva banished both items and made to stand, putting her wand away. Steve was there at her side, giving her assistance to her feet. "Thank you, Captain."

"You're welcome. That was impressive," Steve said, holding her hand over his forearm to escort her back to the jet.

Harry quickly rubbed his newly freed arm, and then looked up at Minerva. "Thank you!" he chirped.

Natasha took hold of the boy's hand and without a word, led him back to the jet and inside to a jumpseat.

"As you saw Mr. Stark, magic is needed for magical issues," she said, as though teaching a reluctant student.

"Well, it certainly helped Harry. Let's go, Bruce needs us, and that magic," Tony agreed, turning to lead the way to the jet. Steve kept beside Minerva, walking in silence as he turned over the new information they had.

The group quickly took their places aboard the Quinjet once more. Clint and Natasha almost rushed through their preflight check to get them airborne. Tony was immediately on his phone with the hospital, getting an update on Bruce. Meggan sat close to Minerva, and along with Capt. Britain, talked with Thor and Minerva about magic, and how different things were between the different peoples who used it.

It didn't seem very long before Clint was touching down near the helipad, but out of the way in case it was needed for a Life Flight.*

Tony was up and out the nearest hatch as soon as the wheels were firmly on the ground, trusting the others to catch up and look after Harry.

Natasha turned to Clint as they shut the jet down. “What about Coulson?” she asked. They had meant to pick him up in London, and now, were in the Scottish Highlands.

“I'll call him, see what he wants to do,” Clint responded, flicking switches and adjusting knobs on the dash to turn the plane off and secure it. She nodded and left the cockpit so he could have some privacy.

Steve and Thor were discussing the merits of changing clothes when Natasha joined them. Thor presumed that the extra authority granted by their uniforms might make things easier in dealing with any problems. Steve reiterated that they needed to keep a low profile as nothing official had been done about the heroes visiting the hospital and he didn't want to cause the staff problems.

She offered her opinion, reminding Thor, "It will avoid a scene we aren't prepared for, like being asked to visit the children's ward."

“What's wrong with visiting children?” Harry asked, looking up at his heroes with curiosity.

“Absolutely nothing Harry,” Natasha reassured him, “However, we usually bring gifts when we visit.” Harry's expression changed to one of confusion, and Natasha clarified, “It cheers them up, because it's not a lot of fun being stuck in hospital.”

Harry made an 'oh' face, understanding at last why they were so hesitant. “So then, Mr Thor and Captain Steve should go as themselves, instead of Captain America and...” he trailed off. Thor didn't have a secret identity, he was just Thor.

The god smiled at the boy. “I am myself, always, young Harry. But I see the value of wearing 'plain clothes' rather than my armor,” he said with a laugh.

With that decision made, Thor and Steve took turns in the small lab, changing into clothes that were always packed on board for emergencies. Natasha also took a turn, coming out in jeans and tank top.

Brian Braddock stayed in his own uniform, thinking the Avengers might need the presence of Captain Britain before the day was out. He then had to convince Meggan to change her own uniform to something more like Natasha was wearing. She reluctantly agreed, the green leotard morphing into a sundress in a few blinks.

Eventually, the team was able to leave the jet and head into the hospital to find Tony. They were directed to the ICU by administration, finding him just outside, speaking with a couple of doctors about Bruce's injuries.

“The burns do resemble radiation burns, and,” one doctor emphasized, “Friction burns from some kind of restraint. Highly unusual,” The female doctor shook her head with this pronouncement.

Tony replied, a slight chill to his words, even as he maintained his media smile and persona, “It was an unusual situation, Dr. Robards, I assure you. When will he be able to have visitors?”

With a negative shake of her head, Dr. Robards answered, “Quite out of the question, we have him sequestered in our chemical exposure ward. And no one receives visitors there” 

And that was the wrong thing to say to Tony Stark just then.

“Madam,” Tony went angrily stony, his face lost the mask, and his eyes hardened as he straightened his back to wage verbal war, “The gentleman you have in isolation wrote most of the established papers on radiation, and happens to be quite familiar with all the procedures!” Before he got a good rant going, Steve appeared at his elbow, Thor to his other side.

“Tony,” was all Steve said, quiet, warm, supportive.

Tony didn't so much deflate as nearly collapse in on himself. Thor wrapped him in an embrace and led him away from the doctors. Braddock joined Steve, making the doctors back up a step from his sheer, overwhelming presence alone.

The twenty minute discussion between both Captains and the doctors ended with Tony being escorted back by the male doctor, who'd largely stayed silent in deference to his colleague's lead. He was a quiet, studious man, clearly shocked by the celebrities that had invaded the otherwise quiet little hospital.

When Tony disappeared into the ward, Brian spoke again to the remaining doctor. “Please understand the nature of our presence. This group, is known as the Avengers. You know who I am.” The woman nodded. School children throughout the British Isles were taught about Captain Britain, and his team, Excalibur. “Then they will be accorded all respect and given as much assistance as though the PM himself were here. Are we understood?”

Dr. Robards reluctantly nodded, and excused herself to make sure the staff was aware of what was now happening.

Clint joined the team, having missed the tense standoff, and waved Steve over from the nurse's station. He brought up the phone call he'd made. “He's going to join us here. The team in Surrey is picking him up and bringing him as fast as they can,” he informed his team leader.

“Thank you Clint. If we're not here at the hospital, we'll be staying in Inverness until they release Bruce. We do need to discuss what's best for Harry, and Phil is probably the best for that,” Steve replied to the team as a whole.

Minerva stood from the chair she'd taken upon arrival, trying to stay out of the way. “I believe that would be my cue, Captain. As soon as we can, I need access to Dr. Banner so that I can counteract whatever Albus did to him. I would also like to discuss matters with whomever will be taking care of Mr. Potter whenever that decision is made."

Steve nodded, "It will probably be Tony and Bruce, but Agent Coulson will be of great help in that matter, being more connected to the bureaucracy than anyone else on the team."

Clint laughed, "Steve's being polite. Nobody does 'pencil necked geek' better than Phil. He'll help cut through whatever red tape is surely to be in place in a situation like this."

Steve continued, "We'll try to figure out a way to get you in to Bruce as soon as possible."

Minerva agreed, and sat down again. Meggan took the opportunity to ask some questions about magic. Natasha listened in, occasionally asking her own.

 

Back in the quarantine ward, Tony barely restrained his temper once again, as he was asked to don a clean suit. The staff sympathized that Bruce was safe, but the whole floor had potential issues and it was for Tony's sake. Once completely covered and carting an independent breathing unit, Tony moved as quickly as he could to Bruce's bedside.

The plastic suit crinkled as he reached for his lover's lax hand. He wished he didn't have to wear the infernal plastic wrap, but had to concede that the ward was dangerous enough. Thirty minutes into his vigil, a new pair of nurses converged on the alcove.

Tony looked up in surprise, finding Natasha and the teacher under the clean suit masks. Natasha raised an index finger over the mask, an indicator to keep quiet. McGonagall pulled a thin stick from a pocket of the clean suit's top, and moved to the free side of the bed.

With some simple maneuvers, and a string of what sounded like Latin, McGonagall produced some kind of energy field that leapt from the wand and covered Bruce in a pearly blue light. Just as the light faded into his skin, the room was plunged into darkness. 

Natasha broke and shook a chemical light into being and quietly said, "Barton's playing in the vents. We'll have to get out of here in a moment."

"And Bruce?" Tony asked.

"Look for yourself, Mr. Stark," Minerva said, putting her wand away.

Bruce groaned, and blinked open his eyes. "What happened?" he said, hoarse from Hulk's recent activity.

"Thank you, madam," Tony said, grateful for what Minerva had done, even with an ulterior motive.

"You are most welcome, Mr. Stark. Now, Ms. Romanov, we will need to alter the memories of the staff present so that Dr. Banner may leave the hospital whole and hail, and most especially, unbothered," Minerva said, turning to Natasha to lead the way.

"Of course. Tony, twenty minutes. There's a bag of clothes just outside in the clean room." Natasha led the witch from the room, leaving the pair alone again.

Bruce sat up in the bed, and Tony scrambled to reach the bed's controls to get the head of it up to support his partner. "Tell me what's happened, Tony, please? And help me with these wires and leads," Bruce requested, reaching for the wires and IVs attached to his body.

"Well, after Gandalf hurt Hulk, you took off," Tony started there, and described the scene that the Avengers entered into, plus getting to the hospital. He left out the discussion-slash-argument with the doctors, and just told him about Minerva. "Not sure what her goals might be, other than getting close to Harry," he said, having pulled two of the monitoring wires off and away from Bruce. He went in search of something to stop any bleeding while Bruce removed the IVs from his hand, and chest. On his way back to the room, Tony ducked some scrambling medical personnel, and grabbed the small duffel he knew contained Bruce's clothes. He believed they had maybe ten minutes left before they had to scramble.

Once those insignificant wounds were dealt with, Bruce shifted himself to the edge of the bed, and dangled his bare feet off the edge. "Well, sounds more exciting than what's happened to me. Give me the bag?" He took possession of the duffel and pulled out the canvas shoes and jeans to pull on first. The t-shirt was last, and Bruce zipped the bag closed before slinging it over his shoulder.

"You ready?" Tony asked, emotions still all over the place.

"Yeah, just..."

"I know."

Bruce slid to his feet from the edge of the bed, making sure the shoes were on as he regained his footing. "This is definitely odd. Are we sure the hospital will be okay?"

"I believe so, but I can always make a donation to them to help them along?" Tony reached out and grabbed Bruce by the shoulders. This wasn't to steady him, but just reassure Tony that Bruce was okay.

"I am okay, Tony. Whatever the woman did, helped. I assume we'll talk about it when we're away from here?"

"Yes, but just, one minute," Tony said. He pulled Bruce into an embrace, and they stood for just a few minutes before the vents rattled, a warning from the archer that they needed to get moving.

Tony let Bruce go, but before the scientist stepped back, he reached up and cupped Tony's cheek with one hand. "Really, I feel fine," he murmured, giving Tony a small, gentle kiss in reassurance.

"Gotta work on staying that way, Mr. Banner," Tony snarked as they left the hospital ward as unobtrusively as possible.

Bruce tried to keep his laughter quiet as they moved out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Life Flight – usually helicopter response team to transfer seriously injured patients from accident scenes or other facilities to hospitals and trauma units that have better staff and equipment.
> 
> Bet you thought I forgot all about this story, huh? Nope. Just took quite a long time to get something out, as I've been having a crisis of confidence. That's ongoing, and I'm trying to beat it back. As promised, I will NEVER abandon a story. Though the ending you get might not be what you'd like to see.
> 
> Speaking of endings, I hope to have this part of the crossover wrapped up in no more than 4 more chapters. I expect to take time off to figure out how to deal with the intervening years before Hogwarts, before diving into how I am going to change that canon. And also to make sure I think my divergence makes sense! When I do wrap this story, I will go back and make small changes, like spelling, formatting, and cleaning up the authors' notes that don't pertain to the story in any significant fashion. Makes for a cleaner read, IMO.
> 
> As always, if you want to keep up with how things are going, you can go to my profile page and find several links and/or locations to look me up. See you in the funny pages!
> 
> HIATUS MESSAGE: 3/1/16 I am on hiatus for awhile as I deal with personal stuff. Please don't leave comments asking for updates, as it negatively impacts my depression recovery. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is not a period piece (not happening in the 80s). It is occurring in an indeterminate time period, and rather modern, for a mention of an iPod (which that trademark belongs to Apple, Inc). The tech here is a mix of Banner and Stark, which becomes important as time goes by. Radiation stuff is completely made up, again.


End file.
